


Woman of Sorrows-The Black-Veiled Woman

by cchilelli



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Violence, Dark Fantasy, Dark Past, F/M, Fantasy, Fantasy Romance, Grief/Mourning, High Fantasy, Historical, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infertility, Medieval, Medieval Fantasy, Motherhood, Non-Explicit Sex, Past Abuse, Powerful Women, Reunions, Romance, Sequel, Strong Female Characters, Swords, Swords & Sorcery, Threats of Violence, Torture, Wedding Night, epic fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 108,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cchilelli/pseuds/cchilelli
Summary: In the wake of the Dendä slaughter and the subsequent rule of those who brought an end to the regime of the Dendä, the darkest of times have fallen. Brother against brother in a quest for a nameless treasure, cold-blooded killings in the streets, and the endless pursuit of some fantasy hoard. While a black-veiled woman takes up the sword and tasks herself with the undoing of this new rule, Thane struggles with a reason to endure. Even in this new world, bought by blood, the same question always remains: duty, or love?
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	1. The Apprentice

The man moved along the ridgeline without a sound. He was tall and slender, though well-muscled and conditioned for battle. His long, deep green cloak he hide him from the prying eyes of men below. They searched for him, yet they would never find him. He had the upper hand. He was born and bred for this. It was his life, his entire world. His people before him, almost every one of them had followed the same path. The path of the warrior. Yet the warriors had faded. Most of his people had died. He was one of the last of his kind, yet he was not even fully of that kind. He was a half blood. The mixed blood of a Dendä and a man. Rendered powerless from the diluted blood of men, yet granted immortal life from the mystic blood that pumped through his veins. He had never known his mother, nor his father, yet he knew his master. The one whom had taught him everything he knew. And they had taught him well.  
Staying low, so to keep his wiry frame hidden from view, he dashed from tree to rock, ducking behind as quickly as possible. The moon was but a sliver, shedding hardly any light over the land. It was the perfect night for the attack, just as his master had intended it to be. As he dove behind a rock formation, his black hair bouncing against his shoulder blade and his arrows clinking in their quiver, he paused for quick glance around. He was safe, no one had noticed him. For a brief second, for he could afford no more, he tried to regain his breath, to steady his pounding heartbeat. His master was so conditioned to battles, to the endless attacks on men, that the bloodshed and the running hardly fazed them. Though he himself was in good condition physically, he was not yet strong enough to behave in the same manner. Attacks such as these drained him dry of all energy, though he never once complained.  
Now that he was behind the rock formation, as he had been instructed to do, he set an arrow to the string. Though his sight was not as keen, nor his aim quite as true as his superior, he was a fairly good shot on his own. Taking a deep breath to steady his hand, he found his target and loosed his arrow. The arrow found its mark, and from the ravine below, he heard the cry of agony from one of the men. His master and he had been tracking these men for nearly a week. They had evaded them until now, though he believed his master was simply toying with them, as a cat toys with a mouse before locking its deadly jaws around its prey. They would go down without much of a fight, for they were hardly a match for him and his master. The two of them could easily take on twice as many men without breaking a sweat. Bringing eight men to justice was hardly a taxing attack, even for him in his inexperienced youth.  
A second arrow found its mark before one of the men knelt to return fire. Immediately, he pulled himself back behind the rock, making it impossible for them to find a target. The icy grip of the stone clawed at his back, but he did not care. He would, and could, endure far worse in battle. Several arrows hit the ground around him in quick succession. He could wait it out, but that was hardly showing valor in battle. If he was to prove himself, he had to react to the fire. Setting another arrow to the string, he briefly popped up to return fire. Another arrow found its mark, sending a third man down. He saw his teacher had already begun to reign down their terror, for his master’s arrows never missed their mark. Instead, they intentionally fired around the men, disorienting them and causing panic. It was intentional, so intentional. For his master was not a kind person any longer. They had grown cruel and hard, taking pleasure in the pain of others.  
Then the pain shattered through his thoughts. He had lost concentration, if only for a brief second, and it had bought him an arrow to the lower arm. The surprise caught him more than the pain, causing him to yelp a little when he felt the arrowhead sink into his flesh. Instantly, he pulled himself back behind the rock formation, knowing his master would take care of the rest. His youth had been proven. His teacher would not be pleased. He never should have allowed his concentration to break, even for a second, nor should he had cried out, for now the men knew his exact location. If he were alone, he would likely be killed. It was only because of his master that he would be saved, permitted to live another day, though he would feel dead inside after the tongue-lashing he would later receive. Humiliated more than in agony, he slumped against the rockface and clutched at his arm. The arrow was not in deep. It was a shallow flesh wound. Biting his tongue, he yanked it out and cast it aside. From his deep green cloak, he ripped a length of fabric and wrapped it tightly around his arm. Then, from below, he heard their screams of terror. His master had waited no longer. They had decided to end the mice’s misery and kill them quickly.  
The moment the screams started, the arrows ceased to fall upon him. Struggling to draw in enough breath, from the dash for cover, the attack upon the enemy, and now the sudden surge of adrenaline that flooded his veins, trying to get him to safety, he clutched at his arm. He would survive the flesh wound, but he was still embarrassed. Grimacing a little, he turned to look down on the valley below. His master, their dark cloak billowing behind them, made quick work of the surviving half dozen men. A moment later, they turned to him, their keen eyes immediately locking onto his position. He shuddered a little. Although he knew his teacher would never harm him, there was something truly unnerving about their stare. At times, it was the coldest, piercing, uncaring gaze he had ever encountered. Other times, it was rageful, vengeful, and hateful. Still, it could be kind and caring, for his master, the most powerful Dendä, had taken him, a lowly half-blood in as their one and only apprentice. That was unheard of, yet that was his life. They cared for him, and they made sure he was safe, all the while teaching him better than he could be taught anywhere else.  
His master ascended up the hill more quickly than seemed possible, yet they were by his side, looking down at him.  
“Are you alright, Tarre?” they asked, concerned for his well-being.  
“I am fine, my lady,” he assured her, lowering his head slightly in his shame, “I am more ashamed at my reaction to such a small flesh wound than I am in pain. I should not have cried out as I did, that was terribly unnecessary. Likewise, I should not have put myself in danger. I risked the attack, and for that I apologize.”  
“Do not worry, we have all made mistakes as young warriors. That is why you are apprenticing, so that when I send you off, you might not be wounded or killed in battle. I never had the chance to apprentice, though I believe I would have benefited from it greatly,” she explained, offering him her hand.  
He reached up and took it, then helped himself up. He felt the stick of his blood, the drying blood on his hand, as he pulled himself up, but she did not seem to mind.  
“Let us go make a camp. I will see to you wound, and ensure it does not fester nor bleed out.”  
He nodded his head a little. She was far more understanding than he had expected her to be. He knew she took up the warrior’s call later in her life, so she never had much formal training. Still, she was often cruel, even harsh, when he made errors, simply for she had a gift for the arts. However, he hardly seemed gifted like her, for every motion seemed effortless for her. She was simply perfection, in every way, whereas he struggled to master even simple things.  
Gently, she patted him on the back, and glanced at his wound. He seemed to have bound it well enough for the time being, and she doubted it would cause him much difficulty in healing. It seemed a simple flesh wound, rather than something that would or could cause harm or pain in his later life. Her only concern might be infection, though he was a strong young man, and she doubted he would suffer infection from it. After a brief trek back to their horses, she patted her steed’s nose.  
“I am sorry, again, my lady. If I had better control of my emotions, I might have been able to control my tongue. I ruined the night for you, spoiled a night of training, by my thick-headedness,” he apologized again, fearing she would later retaliate for his stupidity.  
“As I said before, it does not matter. I am not angry with you,” she repeated, throwing their previously gathered firewood into a pile.  
With a wave of her hand, she set the logs ablaze. She was not afraid of being tracked with the campfire, no being, man or beast, could approach without her knowledge. Even if they did, she would have made a sport out of putting an end to their mad attack.  
“I do not mean to speak out of line, my lady, but you are far more relaxed tonight than most nights,” he mentioned, taking a seat on the dirt near the fire after she motioned him to do so.  
In response, she said nothing, but instead pulled a small clay pot from her knapsack and took a seat near him. She had lowered her gaze away from him. He knew he had spoken a bit out of turn, for saying such things was not his place. Still, he did not realize it would strike such a cord for her. For a moment, her eyes fixed on the clay pot. Finally, she waved her hand over it, filling it with fresh, cool water instantly. Leaning forward, she set the tan pot in the embers, not fearing the bite of the flames. She could have simply clutched the pot in her hands, but instead, she did it the human way. That was something strange about her. She was a Dendä, pure blooded, but she rarely did things in the traditional Dendä manner. He had asked her once, several months back, why that was. Her explanation was brief, something about having been a disgraced slave who did not use her powers for many years. Having her powers restored, especially to the extent they had been returned, was an unusual and new phenomenon for her, so she often forgot to act in the traditional manner, causing her to do things in a very human way. Had it been the true Dendä society, she would have been mocked for it. Though he had never been a part of it, and never could be, for he was a mere half blood, he had read enough to know it would have been discouraged to perform even menial tasks in a human manner.  
A few minutes passed in silence. They were both generally silent people, who did not see anything wrong with holding silence for a time. When the water boiled, she removed it from the flames, taking the scalding hot pot into her bare hands. He could not perform such a feat, but she did so without so much as a second thought. Taking a small cloth from her knapsack, she dipped the edge into the water, and blew on it a little, trying to cool it off enough to touch it to his skin. Satisfied that it would cause him no harm, she moved beside him and pulled back his temporary bandage.  
“I see you already removed the arrow, but are you certain it did not splinter?” she asked, worried a splinter could cause him later pain, or a possible infection.  
“I am afraid I do not know, but the arrow was not in very deep. Just the head was beneath the skin. I doubt it was in deep enough to splinter when I removed it,” he explained, realizing she feared for his health.  
She nodded a little in response before dabbing the warm cloth onto his wound. It was rather shallow, and would heal quickly, especially since he was a half blood. Once the wound was cleaned, she took a length of cloth from her knapsack and bound it tightly.  
“I would rewrap that at least once a day, just to keep the wound clean,” she instructed, tossing out the rest of the water she had previously boiled.  
“Thank you, Lady Chalandra,” he answered, bowing his head a little in respect to the great woman who had stooped low enough to tend to his wounds.  
She always cared for him, despite her undeniable greatness. Smiling a little, she took her sleeping mat from next to her canvas knapsack and spread it out on the other side of the fire. Taking a deep breath, she took a seat on the thin, rough, woven mat. It was all she could afford, but certainly better than sleeping in some half-rotten inn. Tarre copied her suit, favoring his left arm just a little.  
Again, for a time, they held the silence, listening instead to the music of the earth around them; the sound of the wind in the trees and across the valley, the song of the bullfrogs and the crickets, and the rustle of their horses as they moved about, grazing for grass. His mistress, ever beautiful, sat in silence on the other side of the fire. The dancing flames illuminated her face, only adding to her natural glow.  
"I know you love and have loved, but what I do not understand is what happened,” he admitted, indirectly asking her to share her tale, "You are far greater than any other woman who has ever walked the earth, so I know he simply did not leave you.”  
"No, he did not leave me,” she started, bowing her head a little.  
She pulled her hair down, which was a rarity these days. Her golden, lightly curled locks fell forward and framed her face.  
"But nor did I leave him. If we had the choice, we would have never left each other's side.”  
"Then what happened?" he pressed, knowing she needed to share her tale.  
“I died,” she answered, lowering her voice, though not to bring out more sympathy from him.  
"You died?" he asked, rather shocked.  
He knew his mistress was greater than other Dendä, but he did not know she had passed through the veil of death to accrue such powers.  
“Indeed. I passed to the other world, yet have returned for it was not yet my time. I was sent back to this world for they ripped me from it before I had fulfilled my quest. My task.”  
"And what is that?"  
"You already know.”  
"I do, but I wish to hear you say it. I believe it will do you good, my lady,” he replied, knowing better than to make such a request without showing his respect to her, “You have known me nearly my entire life now, yet you have not yet entrusted me with your tale. I wish to hear it, for I hear rumors about you, and I never know what is truly correct. Likewise, I know the kind of woman you are, the kind of woman you can be. I want to better understand what has happened to you, what has driven you beyond your past morality.”  
“To destroy the darkness of the world.”  
"And that required you to give up the man you loved?"  
"No, not at all. That is my own punishment for my misdeeds. He does not yet know I live, and will not until I return to my path. That is why I have taken on you. I need someone to hold me accountable. Who better than you?"  
"Why me? There are full blooded Dendä left, yet you chose me, a lowly half-blood. Why?"  
"In time, I will tell you. But there is much you must know first.”  
"I know about your past, you were a slave who killed their master and ran away, meeting Thane. You were there at the fall, one of the few to survive. And I know you have power beyond comprehension. Greater than any other who has ever walked the earth.”  
"It could have been greater. But that too, is my punishment. To be limited until I agree to complete my task. It is to keep everyone safe.”  
"Safe? Safe from what?"  
"From me, Tarre. I am not as purely good as you believe me to be. So now, as you requested, so that you might understand, I will tell you what I have done. What I did to deserve this,” she agreed, drawing in a deep breath.


	2. The World Beyond

“There was pain, lots of pain, as I slipped into the darkness. I was afraid, though I would not show it for fear Thane would do something irrational. Choking on my own blood, my lungs gave out. I suffocated, slowly. It was a mercy to go slowly, for I had been able to speak to Thane. Still, it was not pleasant. When I could no longer breath, I felt myself drifting. I struggled to stay conscious, yet I soon fell under the great pressure to let go. The last thing I knew, Thane kissed my lips in the most tender, loving manner, and I felt safe. I knew he could not protect me where I was going, and for that I was afraid. Still, I knew I had to leave, for my body had been mortally wounded.  
“The next thing I knew, I was standing amongst the stars, completely and wholly alone. The deep, navy sky surrounded me, without beginning, and without end. The stars speckled the sky, diamonds that illuminated the blackness. The stars, they bent around me, submissive to my will. There was nothing beneath me, nothing above me, only the sky. No moon, only stars. No land, only sky. I was wearing a white dress, in the traditional style. It was loose, though a woven silver belt with a diamond flower in the center cinched my waist. There were no sleeves, it simply was held on my shoulders with matching diamond flower clasps. The skirt pooled around my feet, longer then I was tall. My hair was down, though the front was pulled back to a sort of half-bun in the back. It was wavy, as though I had braided it the night before. On my head was a crown, simple, yet beautiful. The silver band encircled my head, whilst a small diamond flower was mounted over my forehead.  
“I felt peace. Not a happiness, not a joy. Simply a peace. There was a sorrow, beneath the peace, yet it was still a peace. All was quiet, all was still. For the longest time, what felt like ages, though could have only been a few moments, I stood there, barefoot among the stars. It was perfect, without flaw and without error. Yet I was not happy. There was sorrow, beneath the peace. I could not explain it, I could only feel it.  
“Suddenly, out of the darkness, a fair-haired king walked. ‘Alya?’ I asked, as though surprised that he would be the one to greet me.  
“‘Chalandra,’ he replied, ‘I am sorry to see our paths have entwined again so soon.’  
“‘I am dead,’" I said, not asking, simply stating.  
“‘Yes,’ he answered calmly, ‘Your time was over.’  
“‘It felt as though it was only just beginning. For so long, I thought I would embrace death, welcome it, And for a long time, that was what I believed I wanted. Yet now, I feel sorrow.’  
“‘Sorrow? You should not feel sorrow, only peace.’  
“‘Peace, as well, but I feel sorrow. Sadness,’ I mused, trying to understand my feelings.  
“My eyes searched the world around me. It was beautiful, peaceful, serene. Yet I only felt sorrow and pain. Slowly, I drew in a deep, long breath of the crisp, still air around me. My eyes could hardly comprehend the wonders around me, for they began to brim with tears.  
“‘I do not want to be remembered as the woman who could not let go. The woman who was so attracted to her man that she could never fully be at peace until he joined her. I do not want to be that woman. For I was strong in life, long before I met him. But now, it is as though a piece of me is missing. I endured so much before I met him, yet now, I cannot be at peace.’  
“‘You are not yet at peace, are you?’ Alya answered, his voice softened as he took my hand, in a fatherly manner, and smiled, ‘You should have felt immediate peace. You should not be torn.’  
“‘What is the matter with me then?’ I asked, my voice breaking as I spoke.  
“‘Love. You have found a powerful, true love and it is not yet your time’.  
“‘What do you mean it is not my time?’ I pressed, desperate for answers.  
“‘Your journey is not yet complete. You are not yet meant to be here, on the other side. You belong with Thane, for your time together is not finished, your story, has yet to be written. You are not weak, Chalandra. You are very strong. Meeting Thane, falling in love with him, it has not weakened you. It has strengthened you. You were a strong woman before, capable of surviving that torture for thousands of years. Yet you met him. He needs you, and you need him. Needing him does not make you weak, nor vulnerable. It makes you stronger. For together, lies your strength. You were taken from him before you time. Usually, when one dies before their time, nothing happens. But you are different. For so much that was never meant to pass has come to pass in your lifetime and your time is not yet done, and it cannot be done for there is much you seem to have left unfinished.’  
“‘I should be happy, should I not? I wished for death, longed for death, for many years. Now, I am here, and I could be with my parents. Should I not be rejoicing?’ I sighed, ashamed at my own longing.  
“‘No, for you barely know them. You know me better then they, that is why I am here. For I am the one you trust. I was sent to explain, to try to help you understand.’  
“‘Understand, what is there to understand?’  
“‘So much, so much. For your life is not as it should be. It has been tampered with, damaged. You should have lived out your days with Thane, never having been thrown into this spiral of darkness to begin with. There is very dark magic here, and that is why your entire life has been changed.’  
“‘What do you mean my life has been changed?" I asked, confused and shocked.’  
“‘Gesfel,’ he answered, as though I should have known the meaning of the name, ‘Gesfel tampered with your life. He changed your fate in an attempt to change his.’  
“‘Who is Gesfel?’  
“‘He was a mixed blood, and a powerful one at that. Back in the days of the war, when the Dendä fought for dominion over each other. He rose up, first good, for he spoke against the persecution of the mixed bloods, who, as they are more powerful than the full bloods, were being killed off. But power went to his head, and he started tempting the darkness. He became a monster, killing man, woman, and child without thought. He fathered a witch and later manipulated her. She made him immortal, even beyond that of Dendä constraints. Chendra, who rose to power in the Fire Kingdom, begged Gesfel’s daughter to undo his power. She gave her life to cast him out of his mortal body, that he might not be able to reign, only tempt the weak to follow his commands. She gave us future hope. A child would be born with the light of Illivatar, the star that is said we were created in the image of, in their eyes. Only that child would be able to destroy the shadow.’  
“‘But what has he done to me? How has be changed my life?’ I asked, just as confused as when he began.  
“‘You would never have known it, but it was. You were never supposed to live your life as a slave. You were supposed to be one of the greats, a warrior. You see, your grandfather, he was the one who drove out Gesfel, the one who fell to dark magic. You are his grandchild. He cast him out, when no one else could. He was a magma, do you know how rare that is? Conceived of a fire and lightning. And a lightning conceived from grandparents of an air and a stone on one side, and an earth and water on the other. When you add fire into the mix, the most powerful.’  
“‘Fire? No, fire is the lowest,’ I protested.  
“‘No, fire is the highest, for a strong, uncontrollable fire can even burn on water. Water is only second to the fire. Fire will always be the most powerful. They were only pressed into the lowest, and assumed the weakest by your grandfather's surrender. He hoped peace could still be achieved, intermarriage between the faction. Yet no. They demanded rank, and it was rank they got. He could have easily cut them down, been supreme, but he was peace-loving, as we are supposed to be. You see, before he fell, Gesfel was a lightning. And the only thing more powerful than a lightning is a magma. But after the segregation, the kingdoms feared intermarriage, for it had brought Gesfel into being. They hunted down and slaughtered the half-bloods. And those who did not die, went into hiding, like your grandfather. He hid, and married your grandmother, a simple fire. They conceived one child, your mother.’  
“‘My mother was a fire, not a magma.’  
“‘Magma is a gene only possessed for one generation. Your mother was simply a fire and was raised as such. Eventually, she became a brave warrior, an asset in keeping Gesfel’s followers at bay. She met your father, one of the last of his kind, a lightning, as he was the peacekeeper in the town your mother was later sent to in order to hide her. Your grandfather and grandmother were inadvertently killed off. I am not sure what happened to them, but they were killed.’  
“‘I am a magma?’  
“‘Yes. After you were born, your father was called into battle, and put you and your mother into hiding. He was killed. Later, as she tried to keep the peace in the villages, she was slaughtered.’  
“‘What happened to him? When the witch rid the world of him?’  
“‘Eltha, try as she might, was unable to kill her father. He was too strong. So she did the only thing she could, she locked him away in the cave. You have seen it, the cave. For thousands of years, he was confined there. Yet he vowed, before he was bond to the cave, that he would return. Return a second time and rule the world in darkness. But she was strong enough to bind him to the cave until the heir was born. She vowed to your grandfather that someday, his offspring would defeat Gesfel. That was the trade, her life for a future for the world. That someday, the most powerful Dendä would emerge, and defeat Gesfel, one way or another.’  
“‘What happened, then? To the cave?’ I inquired, trying to make sense of this entire tide of information I was being fed.  
“‘Gesfel, slowly, broke free of his bonds. He began to reach out to the weaklings and bend them, just slightly, to his will. He gained power after you were born. When you were young, your mother was killed, this you know. What you do not know is the true reason why. Your mother was slaughtered because of you. Gesfel needed her out of the way. She would have raised you well, you would have been a powerful warrior. So he took you. And corrupted you. That is why you were disgraced, because for seventeen hundred years he poisoned you. He neutralized your power, until you were very, truly ordinary.’  
“‘But the cave, I believe I visited it.’  
“‘Yes, Thane, my son, he gave you the moonstone. That stone, it drew the power of Gesfel out. All the darkness that he had been corrupting your pure, raw power with for all those years. And he took it back to the cave. He figured out, who you really were, after all those years. Someone finally saw your potential, the potential to save the entire Dendä race. When he drew that power out, you began to change, just a little. You grew stronger, that was the real reason behind your sudden perfection of your swordcraft, not practice. When you went to the cave, you saw that there was more than the already strange world you knew, and Gesfel saw you had the capacity to destroy him. That was why the men made a move, under his influence, he needed the Dendä eliminated, you with them. That was how they destroyed us, as no man could so easily strike us down.’  
“‘Why me?’ I asked, heartbroken to find out my entire life was wrong, yet, how could it be wrong if it never came to pass?  
“‘Because that is the fate of those who are great. Sacrifice, sometimes, ultimate sacrifice is required for the greater good. You have dedicated your life, paid the greatest price for your entire life has been altered as a result. Had you been ordinary, or even had your life played out as it was supposed to, you would have never been subjected to that great torture. You would have never suffered at Gremeth's hands. You would have been free.’  
“‘What is freedom but another word for the ability to do wrong? At least with my fate, there was no choice but to be pure, and meek. Had I been given another life, the one you speak of, who knows what I would have become? Besides, a life without Thane, for he is the only love I know, would have been unfulfilled and empty.’  
“‘You do not need a man to complete you, Chalandra. You never will.’  
“‘I never said I did. I am strong enough to live without one, and to have a full life alone. Yet that does not change the truth. I love Thane, and he loves me back. For that reason, a life without him, having Asted what it was like to have that kind of love, would have been lonely. But I never said I needed him to complete me. I want him, long for him, for support and love.’  
“‘You would have still known him, Chalandra, though I cannot say how you would have met one another. The two of you, your fates are joined together, no matter the path of your life. That is rare, it is extraordinarily rare. Your mother and father, they were the same. No matter what path they took, they would always end up together. You and Thane, you and Gesfel, the same. No matter what path you take to get there, you always find each other in the end. No matter how you lived your life before, you would have met Thane, and you would have loved each other.’  
“‘Then tell me, Alya. Is that why I feel sad?’  
“‘Yes. The reason you feel sorrow is because your life together, your time, was not complete, your story, unfinished when you died.’  
“‘And there is nothing I can do?’  
“‘No, you cannot. But your story is not yet finished, not just your story with Thane, there is more to you. For your life was tainted and muddled, your story was made impossible. That is why you are going back. For you must be given another chance. This time, you will be pure, free from Gesfel's influence. You will be powerful, very powerful, for that is the way you would have been had your life not been altered. Simply understand it will not be easy.’  
“‘I do not need it to be easy, I need to be able to go back to him,’ I said, firmly.  
“‘Then you have made your choice. You will be returned, but it will be different. Your power will be restored, and you will be strong. You will have more than just the ordinary powers, and you will be hunted. You will be able to return to Thane, but you must still strive to defeat Gesfel. You will of course be with Thane, but when the time comes, you must rise up and meet him, lest the world should fall to his darkness. Know though, that you can only die at the hand of the one who holds your heart, and that is a very heavy burden to bear. Can you agree to that?’  
“‘Yes, I will do it.’ I vowed.  
“‘Then go, and do not return here until your time has truly come.’  
“Immediately, I woke, freezing and buried by snow. Several times, I coughed, trying to rid my body of a heavy, suffocating feeling. Finally, when the weight on my chest passed, I was able to breath the cold crisp air. I sat up, slightly dazed, and brushed the snow off my body. Snowflakes continued to fall, not a blizzard, but gently. The fresh power beneath me was tainted with blood. My blood. I looked down. The area beneath my left breast was bloodied. A mortal wound. It was no dream. I touched the spot, yet found no wound. Seeing no one was around, I lifted my shirt to examine the sight. In the place of the mortal wound, I found a jagged scar. I lowered my garments again, but felt up my back with my hand. My scars were gone. In their place, only the scar beneath my breast.


	3. The Awakening

“Though the land around me was peaceful, my heart burned with rage. I stood, the dagger from my belt in hand. Glinting in the darkened sunlight, I raised it to my breast, and stepped forward. Towards the people who had killed me. Towards the people who tore us apart. The ones who tried to steal me away from the man I loved. No remorse, no hesitation, somehow I knew I was more fully immortal, never to be killed.  
“My heart thundered in my chest, my pulse raced. I was going to kill. I was going to slaughter them, and I did not feel regret, nor hesitation, nor sorrow. I felt joy. Sick, twisted joy. As I neared the base, arrows began to rain down upon me. All I had to do was raise a hand above my head, and I was sheltered from their blows. A wave of my hand, and the archers fell with agonizing screams, dead. But I did not care. My dagger needed to taste blood. With the flick of my finger, I opened the doors, sending a rush of air inside. Several men ran out to meet me. The first received a fatal blow across the throat, the next a crippling wound in the stomach from which he would slowly bleed out.  
“I pressed on, slashing two more with fatal wounds as I neared the doorway. No more men ran out to meet me, instead they ran away. That did them no good either. My hand had tasted blood, and I was not yet satisfied. They tried to tear us apart, and so they would pay. No thoughts to the infant cradle, the starving widow, the children left fatherless that I would create. No remorse, only blood. They would pay in blood, for they had taken blood.  
“I only felt peace as I slaughtered, tearing apart lives. Those who ran, I cut them down without taking a step towards them, tearing them apart from the inside out. Those who ran towards me, they became sport. I practiced my newly discovered skills, the ancient craft of war. Of combat. And I was the ultimate, immortal match. Soon, all around me, the blood of the fallen leaked onto the stone. Dark, darker than crimson, darker than black. The darkness, the stain, of my sins. They were dead. Every last man who was on that base, slaughtered by my hand. They had tried to take Thane from me, they had tried to kill me. Furthermore, they had played a part in slaughtering the Dendä kind, so they had to pay. They would all pay. Every man, woman, and child who had assisted in our demise. They would all die by my hand. I had the powers, I would become supreme.  
“Then a voice behind me, unrelenting and furious. ‘Chalandra!’  
“Startled, I turned around. It was Alya, though how he was present I did not understand.  
“‘How could you?’  
“‘What do you mean?’ I asked.  
“‘How could you do this? You were given power, and this is how you spend it?’  
“‘They had to pay for their sins.’  
“‘And who are you to judge for their sins? They did nothing wrong.’  
“‘They tried to tear me and Thane apart, they tried to kill me. They assisted in slaughtering the Dendä.’ I replied, unwavering.  
“‘They did not seek to separate you and Thane. They did not seek to kill you. They were soldiers, following orders! They were told to kill the Dendä, for they were fed lies about us. They did not know.’  
“‘You defend them?’  
“Slowly, as though he understood their pain, he nodded. ‘Yes, and so shall you.’  
“‘You cannot force me.’  
“‘I can punish you though. Your job is not simply to defeat Gesfel, it is to defend the innocents of the world. To protect the innocents, in payment for the innocents you slaughtered. If death is necessary to keep the peace, so be it, but no unnecessary killings. You will no longer have ultimate power, as you obviously cannot handle it. You will be given limited, though still supreme abilities. And, as punishment, you will not meet Thane again for twenty years.’  
“‘What?’ I exclaimed, tears already pooling in my eyes, for I knew immediately that his words were true.”  
“And thus, I was condemned to twenty years apart from the man I loved. You do not know all the rest of my story, nor shall you,” she answered with a heavy heart.  
Though she shared part of her tale, she could not help but reflect back on the rest of her time before she met Tarre. She trusted him and shared much with him, but yet still, she did not share all. There was so much more to her tale, so many more intricacies that she would not even share with her closest confidants. Some, Tarre knew, some happened before he met her, and even more were things she would never permit him to know. Yet still, she felt as though she had to remember. To remember all the good and the bad, if only to at last begin to come to terms with her life, past and present


	4. The World of Men

Two Years Prior

Days and nights became longer the lonelier she was. Alone. She had never been truly alone since her days as a slave. Thane had always been there for her, but no longer. She did not even know if he was waiting for her. Why should he? She was dead. Deep inside, she allowed herself to hope he would wait, even believe that he was. But outwardly, she denied it. She did not hope he married another, but if it would make him happy, he deserved it, far more than he deserved the fallen creature she had become.  
As the days in her new life dragged on, she began to become a little more social. She began to eat out, at inns so to be around other people. Some days, it depressed her. She would see couples, married and courting, and wish she was with Thane again. However, it gave her the advantage of being able to see what society was like. The more she saw of it, the less she liked it. Drunkenness was common, even in the middle of the day. People laughed loudly and were disrespectful to their superiors, servers, and elders.  
That day, she sat by the window, staring out to the dirt streets. An occasional carriage clattered by, but otherwise there was very little happening. Instead, she simply wished to ponder the current world. Though she ordered food, she hardly touched it. Every once in a while, she forced down a bite. She had not desire to eat, nor drink, nor sleep. She knew, if Thane was there, he would fret over her lack of appetite, and for that reason she ate a little. Food was distasteful to her, even mere water repelled her. There was nothing for her. So lost and broken that she only longed to be held in his arms again. If she asked for only one thing in the world, it was for him to be returned to her. Had he been there, he would be sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulders. He would be encouraging her to eat more, asking constantly why she was not hungry. Thane would even offer to make her a meal, at which point she would finish her meal. Kind and compassionate to her he had been. Though it had only been a few weeks since she had seen him, it felt as though it had been a distant memory of years past.

Outside, a horse and rider had approached, racing into town. He slid to a stop in front of the inn and jumped off his horse, kicking his feet out. From his back, he pulled a sword and looked about the square. Raising the sword hilt to be level with his eyes, he scoured the surroundings, searching for someone or something. Her new powers began to work; almost instantly, she felt as though something was awry. She knew something was wrong.  
Not realizing what she was doing, her hand moved toward her left hip, where she kept one of her long fighting knives. Her fingers twitched, ready to grasp the handle of it and wield it with unmatchable strength. Her body trembled. Every nerve, every muscle, was ready to fight. At the same time, she knew the man was not seeking her, but someone else. For some reason, she felt obligated to help whoever he was looking for. Perhaps it was her command, to protect the innocent. Whatever it was, she was ready to save them.  
Several minutes more the man looked through the town, unchecked, unquestioned, and unsuccessful. Civilians milled about as though it was nothing to be concerned about. A man walking around, looking for a kill was clearly not of their concern, nor did it frighten them as it should have. Finally, Chalandra rose from her seat. Slowly, she placed money on the table and slipped out the front door, failing to hear the woman behind her wishing her a good day. Her mind was focused on the man and the man alone. Nothing could stop her, nothing could distract her, for there was nothing to distract her from her mission.  
The man continued to walk about the square. Chalandra, wanting to see what he was searching for, stepped into the sunlight, but made no effort to stop him. Her hand lay on her knife now, but she did not draw her weapon. Finally, a second man, unarmed, dashed across the square and towards the first man's horse. Instantly, the first man was upon him. In a well-calculated blow, he slashed him across the back. Immediately, his green shirt became murky with blood. The man cried out and crumpled to the ground, moaning in pain.  
"Please,” he muttered, his voice strained with pain but still clear.  
“I have kill orders,” the other man said, quite calmly, before driving his blade through the man's back, into his heart.  
The man struggled for a moment more, but then moved no more. As fast as the first man had moved, Chalandra sprang into action, her knife in hand. Pressing it against his throat, hard, she pulled him aside.  
"Drop your blade,” she hissed and instantly the blood splattered blade clattered to the ground.  
"I was only working under orders,” he pleaded, being dragged alone helplessly by her.  
She pulled him aside, out of the way of everyday traffic and into a small notch between shops.  
"Whose orders?" she asked, looking at the scruffy man without unmoving eyes.  
"My divide's,” he replied.  
"What?" she asked, confused.  
"My divide,” he repeated.  
"What is a divide?" she pressed.  
"You don't know what a divide is? Where have you been in the last few years?"  
"Tell me,” she snarled, raising her knife.  
"The divides. They look for the treasure. You join a divide and swear your life or death to it, in exchange for a share, when you find,” he answered, shrugging.  
"What treasure?" she shot.  
The man looked up at her, puzzled.  
"Don't you know? The greatest treasure, greater than all the riches of this earth combined. Whoever finds it will be the most powerful, wealthiest people alive!"  
"Has anyone ever seen this treasure?"  
"Not since the fall of the rebels. They were said to have hid it out of spite, before they were crushed. Rightly so too, they were enemies of the free people,” the man answered.  
"What rebels?" she pressed.  
"Those of a different kind who lorded leadership over us for centuries til the revolt.”  
"The Dendä? What treasure did they have?"  
"Yeah, those kind. And bad news they were. Did whatever they pleased, went as they wished, answering to no one because of the power.”  
"They did not!" she said through clenched teeth, "They were high, upstanding people charged with keeping the lands free and the people safe. You are now, without them, in more danger then you ever should care to know.”  
"You sound like one of them,” he laughed.  
Releasing him briefly from her grasp, she stood in front of the entrance, blocking his escape but letting him have a good look at her.  
"You are one of them,” he said breathlessly, stunned by her immortal beauty.  
"And I will rightly kill you if you do not continue to answer my questions.”  
"I never said I wouldn't comply,” he returned, "But see you already lord yourself over me.”  
"I am the last of my kind, charged to save you from yourselves, though you have destroyed everything I held dear. I have every right to command you, kill you, or otherwise treat you as I shall. You have no choice to stand in my judgement, as that power was given to me. But tell me, why are they called divides?"  
"Once there was one, now there are four. They're all fighting for power, for the treasure.”  
"And the man you killed?" she asked.  
"Divide three, the weasels and the cowards, Yewflower.”  
"And you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.  
"Number four, the mighty and the strong, Rasonphel.”  
"I assure you, all consider themselves the mighty and the strong. But tell me, is it considered acceptable to kill off your own kind for some little treasure?"  
"It's war, casualties are unavoidable,” he shrugged.  
"So you join a group of people whose sole purpose is to kill one another in order to try to find a treasure that may or may not exist, which was laid down by a dead people who you killed off? Now, of course, you want them back in order to find this great treasure,” she scoffed.  
"Yeah, I suppose so. But are you really a Dendä?" he asked, doubting.  
"I am, but I will not aid you, nor any other divide in killing each other.”  
"Do you know about the treasure?" he asked.  
"I have no more knowledge then you do. However, I can tell you, if the Dendä did not want you to find it, you never, ever will,” she vowed.  
"How can you not know what it is or where it is?" he scoffed, confused.  
"It was a war, one of which I knew very little about until the end. It could be hidden for years now, thousands of years. I do not know. My side kept its secrets from people like me.”  
"People like you?" he questioned.  
"The lowly. I was kept as a slave, though that was illegal. However, after my escape, I was considered the low born child of a diplomat. My parents were ambassadors to the world of men, before they were killed off by your rebels. For thousands of years, you were squabbling between yourselves, even then! You needed us to protect you and to guide you, but you killed us in thanks,” she sighed, remembering the past. Though she was the last of her kind, and had been brought back to life, she still did not know all of the Dendä secrets.  
"We did what we did under a higher command,” he argued.  
Something was wrong. She had heard that before. So long ago, she could not remember it. It was a warning, from deep within her. This was danger. This was wrong. There was something more powerful and strong enough to destroy the earth.  
"But you, you should come alone,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “You could be of use to us. Even if you don't know nothing about the treasure, to have a Dendä would be good. Think about it, power and riches beyond your imagination.”  
"You dare do me the dishonor of killing my people off and then asking me to help this world in further destruction? Do not let me ever see you again, or I will kill you without even thinking twice,” she promised, finally letting him leave.  
He scurried off, afraid of the woman. Alone, she remained in the shadows of the corner. There was something very wrong. Her body tingled with fear, with warning. This was something different, but something familiar. So long ago it was but a distant memory, yet at the same time, so close she could feel it. A nameless leader. Obviously, it was unlikely that the whole story had been told.  
Whatever warning her heart gave her, it did not matter. No matter the danger, she would be safe. No longer was she bound by the constraints of mortality, that much she knew, for she was not to the ways of the world. Instead, the blade nor the bow brought her death nor injury, for her duty was yet to be fulfilled. Until that time, she was bound to the earth. If it meant to put herself at risk, so be it. She had to find out more about the divides, one way or another. She needed information, and she was willing to use any methods necessary to achieve her task. The only danger was not to herself, but in her skillset. She was the ultimate weapon. If the divides learned what she was, who she was, they could try to take her. If she was a captive, it did not matter to her. They could torture her in every imaginable way and she would never so much as open her mouth. No longer did she have to feel the pain. She could simply close her eyes and let it all slip away.  
The only danger would be to the divides themselves if they chose to take her captive. Though she knew very little about these so-called divides, she already understood they would hail her captivity above the others, whether or not they actually got information or skills from her. That was, if they found out who she was.  
And although it was unlikely they would know her identity, there was something inside. Something that warned it. Something that called her and beckoned to her. Yet it warned her away. Something that wanted her, but something her heart knew was dangerous, even to her. This was dark, very dark. Powerful, capable of dark strength beyond her imagination. It was even a threat to her. And what could possibly hurt her now?  
Though she let herself seem in control and without fear, she hurt deeply. All of her body longed to see Thane again, to feel the warmth of his arms as he hugged her close. The desire for his touch raged through her veins, yet fell unmet. She was being punished for her crimes, and so could not see him. For all the years she would wait, never complaining, never trying to see him. No, she would wait her time then be brought back to his undying love.  
That was, if he still loved her. That was a dark yet real possibility that she feared to dwell on. He could, in fact, have met another woman. One more perfect, with less to hide, then she. One he knew was alive, and one he could marry. He did not even know she was alive. He loved her, or at least had, but he did not know she breathed again. It was possible he had done her bidding and found a different wife. Yet she shuddered to think he could love another. She never could, but perhaps he was able. She only prayed that he could not, that she was his only. Without him, she would be lost and lonely. Without him, she would have nothing to live for.

Slowly, she meandered back to the inn where she was staying. It was rather early in the day still, so she could go out to search for the divides, but instead, she would wait for the following morning. She had enough excitement for one day, and needed time to let herself relax. Early the next morning though, she would leave in search of those causing pain to others. And whatever this treasure was, it was dangerous. But the question was, what is it? She had never heard of anything of value, true value, that was worth killing for. Something they had hidden. Of course, she had not known about the war most of her life, but her fiancé was the price, so she assumed she would have heard about something like that. Yet no.  
Before she re-entered the inn itself, she stopped by the stables. Immediately upon entering, her steel grey stallion swung his head over the door. For one of the Dendä steeds, he was large. His black mane was cut short, as she needed him for battle. It was better for him to keep a short mane and tail for all the journeying they did, as it kept him cooler. His powerful legs were rimmed with muscle, capable of carrying her for hours on end at a swift gallop. As she approached him, he pulled his curved neck inwards and raised his head up, sniffing for treats. Finding none, he lowered his head once more and snuffled her hands.  
"Greyfer,” she whispered, stroking his forehead.  
His gentle black eyes focused on her, recognizing her as his master.  
"We have a long journey ahead, tomorrow,” she told him.  
He snorted, seeming to understand. If there was one thing he loved, it was to run. Smiling, she pressed her lips to his forehead and gave him one more pat on the nose. As she left, he watched her with the same, patient gaze. He was a good horse, but not as fast as Avaleth had been. However, he was able to carry far more supplies, exactly what she needed on her long, homeless journeys. He was stocky and large. She had found him grazing in the woods. Almost instantly, she had recognized him as a former Dendä mount. He had greeted her without hesitation, realizing she was of his immortal kind. From the scars on his sides, she assumed he had been in the battle, his rider killed. Likely, he had been taken before running away from the world of men. Now, he had once again returned to the Dendä. And he was perfect for her, though more bouncy then her small mare.  
Sighing as she re-entered the stuffy inn, Chalandra made her way into the dining area. The dim of men shouting, already intoxicated with brew, and plates clamoring filled her ears. The stench of poorly cooked stew and brew surrounded her. She hated the place. Inns were her nightmare. She preferred peace, not loud noises and disgusting smells. As quickly as possible, she made her way to a back table. It was hardly any better back there, as the table was dirty from its previous inhabitants, and men slurred their words all around her. Woman cackled, men laughed. It was misery.  
Soon, a woman came by, and she requested some lentil soup and a piece of bread. After a rather long delay, the barmaid brought out a bowl of red-orange liquid, a glass of water, and a hunk of bread. Although the food smelled foul, and tasted worse, she ate it anyways, knowing she would need her strength for the following morning. Despite her earlier difficulty eating, she found that having quenched her thirst for blood and war, her stomach had settled and permitted her to eat. Once she was finished eating, she washed down the nasty soup with the rest of her bread and a swig of water. Leaving two coins on the table, she departed the noisy dining area for her room.  
As she walked down the hall, the clamor of the room faded. The rooms were quieter, but not completely silent. She could hear others in the adjoining rooms. Sometimes, they were simply going about their business, or snoring. Other times, she cringed and tried to block out the noise of a man with his wife, or a prostitute, in all likelihood. The walls were too thin to be comfortable, as she never like the sound of others. She preferred solitude.  
Once in her room, she pulled off her cloak and kicked off her boats. Pulling out her map, she studied it for a minute before tracing her finger along the way she planned to ride the following morning. Rolling it up, she tucked it into her ever-ready knapsack. In the morning, she would fill her canteen, and gather some manner of food from the kitchen. But for now, she was ready. Sighing from the loneliness she felt, she pulled off her clothes and slipped into her nightclothes. Laying some clothes out for the following morning, she lay back in her bed. The sun was beginning to set, so it was a fine time to sleep. She would be up long before the sun the following morning. As she lay in bed, she thought of Thane. Hoping to find some lingering smell, she inhaled the scent of the shirt she now wore, as it once belonged to him. Nothing. His smell was long gone, but it still echoed in her mind. If only one day she would be able to be with him again. To not feel him in her memories but let him hold her in his arms. To have him again. But not now. Not until her penance was served. And they would be long years at that.  
And though she knew in her mind she desired to be with him again, his memory was almost a dream. It was not that she forgot him, but more that she began to become more independent. She felt as though she no longer needed him, and even though she wanted to return to his side, she was not the same woman. The meek, quiet girl who needed his support had vanished, leaving a strong woman, unafraid of hardship and loneliness in her place.


	5. Unto the Divide

Instinctively, as Dendä have a very accurate sense of time, she woke long before the sun. The warm, illuminating rays had not yet even lightened the sky's dark hue by the time she slipped from beneath the well-worn covers. Immediately, she yanked off her nightclothes and pulled on long, tight black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Over the shirt she pulled a black leather corset, serving more than one purpose. It also acted as a type of armor, like the leather sleeve cuffs on her shirt. They too were black, and extended from her elbow to loop around her middle finger. They kept her arms from being cut up by the bowstring.  
Tightly, quickly, she laced her leather vest up. Finally, she bent over and laced her leather ankle boots. Her entire outfit was black. Quickly, her fingers keen with experience, she braided her hair,, keeping it out of the way. From within the drawers, she drew her weapons. Her two swords criss-crossed her back, her quiver in between them, and her bow over them. In addition, she strapped her knives, in varying lengths, to her body in various areas, all easily accessible and invisible to make her all the deadlier. Finally, she grabbed her black cloak and veil from the closet and pulled it about her shoulders, though she did not cover her head with it. On her way out the door, she grabbed her knapsack from under the bed.  
As she made her way down the hallway, she kept her footsteps light and quick to prevent waking anyone. Once in the dining room, now empty save one sleepy-eyed barmaid, she stopped. Approaching the tired girl, she requested a good amount of food, and handed her the canteen to be refilled. Glad to have some task, the girl bustled off to find the requested items. Moments later, she returned, a small bag of supplies in hand. Nodding her thanks, Chalandra handed her three silver coins, to both pay for the supplies and to show her gratitude. On her way out the door, she dropped two more coins on the innkeeper's desk, paying for her room.  
Once outside, the crisp morning air greeted her. Inhaling deeply, she let the cold air fill her lungs and bring her strength. Although the night was beautiful, and she wished to linger, she forced herself to move on, and entered the stable after a quick walk across the yard. Inside, the smell of horses and hay filled her nose. Even in the dark, Greyfer had recognized her presence; his deep nicker of greeting betrayed him. Gathering his saddle and bridle, she made her way over to his stall.  
"Good morning, Greyfer,” she greeted, smiling as he nibbled at her hair.  
Entering his stall, she patted his shoulder before tossing his blanket over his back, followed by her saddle. Once the girth was tightened, she hung her two bags across his withers, using the hooks it had. Relieved of her burdens, she tossed the reins over his head and bridled the gentle giant. He accepted the bit without hesitation and lowered his head to make her task easier. Gathering the reins, she slipped her foot into the stirrup of her great steed. He stood still as she swung her leg over his broad back and settled into the saddle.  
"Alright Greyfer. We have far to go and little time,” she said, pressing her leg against his side.  
He responded immediately, setting off at a brisk walk. Once outside of the stable, she clucked to him and pressed her leg against him again. This time, he jumped into a smooth, but long-strided canter, only growing faster with each stride. Now, before the sun had even become a glimmer in the dark sky, they were off to whatever place lay ahead. Though she had no map of where these divides were, she trusted her heart to guide her. Since she had been restored, she realized she possessed powers even she did not believe. Guidance to the divides, possibly the source of the evil she was supposed to deal with, would be easy.  
Despite the gravity of the situation at hand, Chalandra still loved the morning ride. Her cloak and braid billowed out behind her. The cool, crisp air of the morning touched every inch of her skin, and she loved it. It invigorated her. It centered her and it calmed her. It was beautiful. The feel of her willing steed beneath her only added to that joy. The feeling of his power, his ground-eating strides. His will to serve her. She loved every part of riding. The feeling of freedom aboard her great horse; the flicker of his ears as he waited to carry out every command she requested of him. People search their entire lives for something so close. They want to be free, but there is no true freedom like that which can be borrowed from the back of a horse.  
Time ticked by, and they two continued on their ceaseless journey. Being Dendä-bred, he was able to keep up his quick pace for hours on end, and did not show any signs of tiring. The sun had long since risen, and its golden rays beat down on the glistening back of her stallion; not tired, but covered in sweat. They had been travelling west for four hours now, and she assumed they were getting close. However, it seemed as though she had underestimated the lengths to which the divides were willing to go. She had originally thought they would find one of the divides within an hour or two. It only seemed likely the divide would be close, and not willing to travel so far to simply kill off one man. Yet she had been wrong. They clearly were willing to go to any lengths to keep information from getting back to rivals. On a regular horse, this was at least a seven-hour journey as of yet, and she still had not found any sign of them.  
As expected, not longer than thirty minutes later, Chalandra felt a change on the wind. Minutes later, she saw it, the great metal scar that jutted up out of the earth. It was vastly large, this much she knew. From the small sliver of it that she saw, she could tell it was made to withstand years of war and hold thousands of people. It had been disguised to look like the surroundings, but it did not escape her sharp eyes. Quickly, she pulled her cloak about her shoulders and let her veil cover her face, then halted Greyfer and swung down. Glancing around, she searched for a guard. High up in the trees, she spotted one. From her back, she quickly pulled off her bow and grabbed an arrow from her quiver. All in one swift movement, she had the man in her sights.  
"Drop your weapon and come down here!" she called out, seeing he too held up a bow.  
"Why should I? I have the upper hand! There is no reason for me to forfeit to a lesser opponent," he laughed.  
"Because you believe me to be unable to make a lethal shot does not mean that I am,” she answered sharply.  
"No one could make a kill shot from your angle,” he scoffed, holding his shortbow steady, "Drop your weapon and turn back the way you came or I shall kill you.”  
"I can make the shot. Do you want to bet your life on it?" she asked, "And I should like to see you try and kill me.”  
"Impossible!" he cried, laughing.  
Having enough conversation, she let her arrow fly. It lodged itself deep into the soft bark of the tree, directly next to his head.  
"You missed,” he taunted.  
"I meant to. Do you think one with such great force misses a shot?" she asked, “But I mean you no harm, I merely wish to speak with the leader of this so-called divide.”  
"Lower your weapon first.”  
"After you lower yours.”  
Finally, he consented and lowered his bow. As agreed, she let her down as well, then returned the arrow to the quiver. Using a rope, he descended from the tree and landed on the earth next to her.  
"Now, would you please take me to the leader of this divide.”  
"Well, that is completely impossible! For one, you are not a member. Even if you were, I have never even met the man. Besides, I cannot just let you past. You must remove all weapon, and your veil at that.”  
"Do you not think I can do some serious damage to this place, whether or not I have your consent?" she scoffed.  
"I did not make the rules, I simply enforce them,” he answered coolly.  
Sighing, she drew back her veil.  
"My weapons, you cannot have. That I stand firm on. And I will certainly not be joining your divide. I simply need information,” she bargained.  
"You shouldn’t even be here. There are no women allowed inside the divides."  
"And when did that start?" she asked, "Women and men were once equal where I come from.”  
"Not here. Never here. Womenfolk are too unreliable to have around the divide. We cannot trust you with men's work. I don't know where you came from, but our world is a little different. I suggest you turn around and walk away now before the men get ahold of you.”  
"Are you threatening me?" she pressed, her tone firm.  
"No, I just believe you would not like the consequences of a woman being around these parts.”  
"I believe you would not like the consequences of any one of your men even looking at me in a way I do not see fit,” she shot back, unwavering.  
“Well, it's just that the last woman who came here...” he protested.  
“Was not me. And my prior threat stands. The last man who so much as thought of me with lust lost an eye. I prefer not to elaborate on what I would do if anything close to what you are implying happened to me,” she snapped back.  
“My warning if for your own good.”  
“I prefer not to have that startling look into the hearts and minds of men so I request you keep your commentary to yourself. Take me to the man who leads you,” she demanded.  
“I told you, I cannot. Besides, if I parade a woman though there, the men might think it’s for them.”  
“For which there is a remedy,” she answered, pulling out a small, but sharp and precise blade that she twirled between her fingers a few times, "Furthermore, you said that no women were allowed inside.”  
“They are not, but the occasional woman is called in.”  
“I do not care! Take me in there, now!" she exclaimed, losing her temper.  
The man sighed, but consented and began to lead her inside. Before them was a large gate, but he walked around to the far side and nodded to a guard standing in front of a door. The man stood aside as they entered, but let the heavy metal clang behind them. The whole structure was rather crude, as they had attempted to build it from solid metal. However, it also had an array of stones, bricks, and other various materials inside. The metal was very roughly welded together, with seams jutting across the panels. The entire base reeked of brew and filth. The air felt heavy and dank.  
He led her up a rather questionable staircase built of various materials. Then another. Now, two stories up, there was one small, iron-barred window. Finally, he turned to the right and led her down a crapped and dirty hallway. Knocking on the third door, he waited for a response. Several moments later, a midweight man opened the door, only wearing a flannel shirt and his pants, held up by suspenders.  
"Sir, I found this one on patrol. She demanded to come and see you,” he offered.  
“Bates! What are our rules here?" he man shouted.  
“No women, no outsiders,” he answered, "But I doubt rules were going to stop this one.”  
“What does that matter? She's a woman. She is delicate and dies easy. Or at least goes into custody easily,” he murmured, his eyes drifting to Chalandra’s face for the first time.  
“If you so much as think of anything of the sort again, I will cut your wretched tongue from your mouth,” she snapped, raising her knife.  
“You didn't disarm her!" he bellowed.  
“That will not happen,” she shot, flipped her knife about her fingers.  
“What do you intend to do? You are inside an army base filled with soldiers raving with hunger. It's been quite a while since they've tasted a woman's flesh. They could disarm you and pull you limb from limb with a simple word from me. All I have to do is tell them there is a woman in here.”  
“You can believe whatever it is you like, but I know the truth. I may be a woman, but I am twice the warrior of all your men combined,” Chalandra snorted.  
“See, just like a woman to make such empty threats to a man,” he laughed, his voice echoing through the halls.  
Shaking her head, Chalandra pulled back her cloak, just a little, to reveal the assortment of weapons carried on her legs alone.  
"Heavily armed, certainly. But any nitwit can carry some knives. It is simply a matter of skill.”  
“Let me make this very clear. If you make one more statement about your intent to have your way with me, or threaten me in any manner, I will cut out your tongue. And, perhaps I will also cut off your ear, just for good measure,” she said flatly, "Now, I have questions that need answering. I suggest you comply lest you should lose your ability to answer.”  
“Well then, Bates, return to your post. I can handle it from here. As for you, come in, take a seat,” he invited, his voice dripping with lust.  
Choosing to ignore his obvious intentions, Chalandra brushed past him in the doorway and took a seat on his day couch. As she sat, she sighed.  
"I must know more about this so called divide you seem to have put together,” she began.  
The man stepped forward to take a seat next to her, but she brandished her knife and gestured to the chair across from her. The man rolled his eyes and growled but took a seat.  
“Well, we are of the Rasonphel divide. My name is Gerald and I lead these men. We, like the other divides, are searching for the treasure hidden, out of spite, by the Dendä. It is our goal to find this fabled treasure, said to be more valuable than all the riches of the world combined. Nasty old creatures, so full of hate, they could not let the new leaders of the earth have their precious treasures.”  
“Who said it was more than one treasure?" Chalandra asked.  
“Well, to be that valuable, it would have to be.”  
“Not for the Dendä. They were a great and powerful people. One of their greatest treasures could have been worth that much, not simply some old hoard of treasure.”  
“Then what do you think it is?"  
“Hoards of treasure are worthless in reality. This treasure is more likely an item of great power, a power too great and terrible to imagine. I would not get involved with it. If the Dendä hid it, there was a reason. And to not tell their people about it, there is proof enough that it is incredibly dangerous.”  
“How do you know they didn't tell their people... I mean it's not like you could have asked them,” he pointed out.  
“Perhaps not,” she muttered.  
“You mean you are a Dendä?" he laughed, confused.  
“You may come to whatever conclusions you like, it will not necessarily make them true.”  
“Then you deny it?" he verified.  
“I will not answer your question. I may be, and I may not be. You may decide that for yourself, I simply need information,” she answered.  
“Well then. I must say, I have never had a Dendä before. I would certainly love a tradeoff for you. I give you all information you need. And in exchange, you stay as mine, if only for a little while,” he lusted.  
“I warned you,” she snapped, tired of his shameless speech.  
Clenching her jaw, she pulled out one of her small knives. Stepping forward, swinging the knife, just a little, she stared him down. He cowered back, and tried to reach for a weapon of his own, but she disarmed him with a swift blow from her fist. Helpless, he fell onto his back with a thud. His desperate attempt to save himself had gone array. Crouching down, she positioned herself so he was forced to stay still. Slapping him across the face, he opened his mouth to call for help. With that, she grabbed him firmly by the jaw to prevent him from closing his mouth again. Her knife entered his mouth, its steel tip pressing against the back of his tongue. Stabbing it into the flesh, he struggled but failed to escape her grasp. The next thing he felt was blood running down his throat as she cut his tongue out. He flailed and fought her, but it was useless. His cries were muttered by his newly removed tongue. Wiping the blood off her blade and onto his shirt, she stood up.  
"I hope you have learned your lesson,” she muttered, sheathing her knife.  
The man staggered up, blood dripping down his chin. His hands grabbed and his face, trying to make sense of this new sensation.  
"No more killings, do you understand? You cannot kill the other divides over some worthless treasure you believe to exist but know nothing about,” she sighed.  
The man nodded franticly and groaned. Shaking her head, she turned to the door and left the room. The guard stationed outside tried to stop her, but she grabbed his arm and broke it. He doubled over in pain and she continued through.  
"Anyone else wish to stand in my way?" she taunted, confident in her abilities.  
The other guards cowered back, not ready to test her threats. Pulling her black cloak and veil over her face, she departed from the base, unhindered. Outside, Greyfer was waiting for her, ready to carry her away from the terrible lands of bloodlust. Gently, she patted his nose when he greeted her with a soft nicker.  
For a moment, she hesitated. Then, the angry shouts of guards sent to stop her echoed in her ears. Smiling and laughing just a little, she swung onto her tall steed. With a cluck and a small squeeze of her legs, he set off at a brisk canter, knowing by the sounds around him that he needed to save his mistress from danger. She was not concerned that they would catch her, and even if they did, she was not worried about fending them off. She simply worried about her safety in the event that they managed to capture her. From the things they had said to her, she did not approve of their morals. But it was more than that. She was afraid that their fallen morals would drive them to carry out their threats. She had been in that position once before, though no harm had come to her by her own hand. However, the thought of their intentions sent a shiver down her spine.  
Urging her stallion on faster with the fear she was faced with, he opened his stride and ate up the ground before him. She let out her reins more, and he took every inch, giving her more and more speed. His massive stride leapt over the ground, carrying her far away from any danger she may have faced. The wind whipped passed her. The shouts were long gone, yet still she let him run on, faster and faster. That dreadful place, her emotions from now mixed with those of the past. The horrible, captured, abused, fallen feeling she had suffered for so many long years. The urge to burn the place to the ground and slaughter every last miserable person inside churning in her blood.  
But there was more. She was sent to protect the earth, how could she fulfil her duties if they were allowed to survive? Yet was there then no good within the base? Did every man there deserve to die? The answer made her feel nauseous. No. No, there was good even within that wretched, misled lot. There were people who wanted nothing more than to sustain their families and to protect their children. There was good, even in the darkness. That was why she had to spare them. She could not even dream of destroying them, so great was her power. Should she wish them dead, it could happen. She had to forgive. Fight against them, yes, but not destroy them. There had to be mercy.  
She had been given mercy, so now she had to give. Thane had spared her, wretched woman that she was. Now, it was her turn. Though they all deserved to die, she had to spare them. Let them live out their lives in fallen lands, living on the moral they had established. If they went to kill, she would stop them. If they warred against each other, she would intervene. But not destruction. She could not, and had no right to, destroy them.

And so far away, the man who had shown her forgiveness lay, face down, weeping. For years now, he had been moving from town to town, trying to conceal his lineage. His unaging face no longer changed from the perpetual frown it carried. He had been hurt too deep. He could not find anything worth smiling about any longer. Without the woman he had chosen to take as his wife, he could not be happy. He could not even comprehend the happiness of others any longer, so far he had been away from the woman he loved.  
It was dull now. The world was always dark and grey, as the day she had died. Even the brightest, sunniest day, one that could have made her dance for joy, seemed gloomy and repulsive to him. Several times now, other women had tried to appease his sorrow, only to be met with groans and sighs. Some of those women were easy, and could be purchased rather then earned. Those he found the most disgusting, the ones other men would have turned to. They loomed about him, waving and smiling, trying in vain to seduce, the unseduceable. Other women saw him as an older man, still in appropriate marrying age, that could support them. He kept a job, had money. He was strong, and kind, though he rarely talked. He would be a suitable husband, but he always thwarted their advances with disinterest and even disdain.  
Every day, he dragged himself out of bed and to work, trying only to make enough money to sustain himself. It did not matter to him if he should sleep on the streets. He, however, was clinging to the hope that Chalandra was still alive. Like some kind of lie that he told himself. He wanted her to be alive. It was only a lie though, he knew her dead. It was the only thing that kept him from himself. The facade that in some life she would have been his, and that if she ever found him like this, she would be too ashamed to stay with him.  
In the time since her death, he had been fired from several jobs. His misery tainted his work, and it became sloppy. The man who once did everything to perfection, if only to better himself, slipped to a state of disrepair. He did not care. If he was fired, he shrugged it off and found different work. Nothing, nothing mattered. Nowadays, he only ate one meal per day, two on very limited occasions. But every night, he sank to his ultimate low. He drank and drank, and drank. He drank his sorrows away as best he could but the diluted brew of men did nothing for his misery. It was now a futile attempt to forget the sadness that loomed over him day and night. Yet no matter how much he drank, the light of her smile, the gentleness of her words, they stayed. Every night, no matter his drinks, he dreamed of her. Sometimes, they were good, other times, it was of her death. Even the good dreams were so painful that he hardly slept. He would rather spend all day and night awake, facing the consequences of sleep deprivation then to face the idea of her. She haunted him, day and night. It was as though she was always there, and yet so far away he could barely even think of her. It was easier to remain awake, to face the days in tired lull then to feel the sharper pain of a refreshed mind tormented with dreams of her.  
For so long he had battled his mind. He wanted to find something that brought him closer to her. Something that would have made her happy if she were still alive. He wanted something that brought her closer, and reminded him of her. It might ease his pain. And yet, instead of soothing him, it could bring a new raging fire of stabbing sense of loss. But he felt as though he needed to find it. There was something, something that called to him. Across the years and the decades, it longed to be found. Ever since her death, he had been searching for it. He knew it was not the treasure that the divides were searching for. No, it was more powerful. More meaningful. They searched for empty treasure, yet at the same time he knew it was not empty. Thane, one of the last Dendä to breath, knew exactly what they were searching for.  
He knew where it was. He knew what it looked like. He knew what power it held, its origin, he knew everything. He knew why they were driven to crazed frenzy of searching for it. He understood the dangers. He knew all about the mysterious treasure that drove brother to kill brother. And yet it did not interest him. The affairs of men were boring and frivolous. If they found this treasure, it was not his business. They killed each other over something they only dreamed existed. Yet he would rather let others die then expose the greatest secret he ever held. It was better some died then to have it found. It was impossibly unlikely that they would ever find it, at least not without his aid. And he would never help those who killed the woman he loved. And yet had that not been so, he still would have rather died then give up the treasure. The risks, too great. Not worth even a chance. He should know, for he was the one who hid the famed treasure.


	6. The Girl Who Outlived Her Fear

Miles away, Chalandra did not know of her fiancé’s sorrows. However, she knew whatever this famed treasure was, it either did not exist, or she did not know about it. The only reasons she would not know about it was if it did not exist, or if it had been hidden from a large group of people. Thane shared almost everything with her, and if there was some valuable treasure that would late enable her to support herself in the event of his absence, he would have told her. That would mean there was something more to this notorious treasure. It was either dangerous, and not as it seemed, which would explain why it was hidden in the first place. Perhaps though, it did not exist at all.  
That would be much, much easier. It would mean there was no danger, only the need to stop unnecessary killings between these divides. They would simply have to be convinced there was never a treasure, that it was a dream and a falsehood. If it was dangerous, that was another story. They did not care who or what they endangered. They wanted nothing more then to be the supreme. The ones with the power. The wealth. Wealth they allowed them to consume them, control them. Even the families they claimed to want to support could not stop them from this greed. If it was real, but it was hidden for a reason, there was nothing she could do. She would have to wage open war to save them. The only way then to save them, might be to kill them.  
Now so far away from the people who threatened her, she slowed her steed. Slapping the grey stallion on the neck, she praised him. His neck had not yet broken out in foam, but instead had a light dampness to it. She let him settle into a walk, having carried her so valiantly and willingly away from danger. His stride slowed, and she melted into his comfortable, long-strided walk. Letting out the reins, she let him lower his head and draw in his deep, long breaths. His sides moved slowly, showing her he still had lots of energy left. However, there was no need for him to continue to exert himself as they were far from danger. No horse save of a Dendä breed could touch him. And the Dendä horses would never let such vile men touch them. They could tell. There was a connection between horse and rider. A very real connection. A Dendä horse did not have to accept a rider, they would never be forced to. If they did not approve of their rider, or match together, there was no force. That would spoil their natural will to serve and keep their masters safe. Greyfer had accepted Chalandra, and she likewise had connected with him. Now, they had an invisible, but powerful bond. He would run until his heart burst if only she asked. Anywhere she asked, he would go. He would run into battle, through fire, all she had to do was ask it of him. That was why they were unbeatable war horses, because of their bond. Nothing could tear a horse from his master once they had been bonded. If a horse's master was killed, they usually would stand there, refusing to leave. They would guard their master's body until they too, were killed by their side. That was a bond that could never be achieved by men who forced riders onto their backs and jabbed their sides with spurs. They fled from that kind. But not from the side of a Dendä.  
Late that night, she and Greyfer jogged into a town. Some town whose name was either unmarked, or long-forgotten. The moment she saw another foot traveler after her hours of abandoned rode, she pulled her black cloak over her head. With it she could be a faceless traveler, just another rider on horseback. As she entered the town, she pulled Greyfer back to a walk. She never liked towns, and would prefer to sleep in the woods. However, it was easier to find vital information in towns where gossip raged. There was something different this time though. Something else warned her away. Something powerful. Something dark.  
Greyfer felt it too. The moment they stepped into town, his body tensed, and his stride shortened as though ready to flee. He gathered his feet under him, truly ready to run at the first sign of danger. Trying in vain to calm him, she slapped his broad neck a few times. In response, he snorted a few quick breaths through his nostrils. Trying to regain his attention, she clucked twice to him. Instead of flicking his ear back towards her, he raised his head higher and sped his stiff-legged, short-strided walk. She felt it too, but there was also knowledge to be found here. Looking around, her stomach turned at the sights around her.  
Black smoke billowed skyward as people roasted whole animals outside, on the streets. Men sat around the great bonfires, gnawing meat off the bone and spitting gristle onto the ground. Women cackled with each other, flirted with men, and behaved as repulsively as the men. Eyes turned towards her horse. People whispered and pointed, obviously intrigued by the visitor. As she walked through the town, she felt her hand fall instinctively to her weapons. They were concealed beneath her cloak, but she knew where every last knife was. And she was prepared to use them. She felt her heart rate increase, simply uncomfortable by the filthiness and repulsiveness of the town. Then she saw it.  
Next to a man chewing on a bone like a dog, there was a stand. At first glance, it did not appear to be anything special. Then, she read the sign. "Dendä bones,” her body froze. They were selling Dendä bones. Stunned, she stared at the stand. The shelves held all kinds of bones, from spine bones to skulls. Greyfer halted, feeling her distraction. The man selling the bones knelt by a bonfire. throwing more wood into the center. Nodding, he pulled out a charcoaled skull from the center, dipped it in a bucket of water, and threw it with the rest of the skulls. Her heart missed a beat, shocked and horrified by the sight. Greyfer's nostrils flared, bringing in the scent of burning Dendä flesh. He snorted and tensed even more, preparing to flee.  
A shiver raced down her spine. The heat of anger welled up in her, surging through her veins. Her rage and hatred moved her now, taking control of her body. Instead of turning Greyfer away as he so desperately wanted to leave, she tugged on her left rein. One of his ears flicked back, asking if there was a mistake. This time, she pressed her right leg against him, confirming her request. For another moment, he balked. Then, true to his loyalty, he stepped towards the smell of burning Dendä flesh. She asked him to walk towards the stand, getting as close as she could while on horseback.  
"Who owns this stand?" she demanded, her voice firm and serious.  
“That would be me,” the man answered from where he was hunched over the fireplace. Rising, he walked up to her with a sloppy grin. "What can I do for you?"  
“What is it you sell?"  
“As the sign says, Dendä bones,” he answered, shrugging carelessly.  
“How dare you,” she muttered under her breath.  
“Sorry?" he asked, confused.  
“Where is it you got these bodies?"  
“From the triumphant battlefield where our enemies were slain. But also, from the occasional captive I myself purchased and killed,” his voice was light, as though this was normal and acceptable.  
“How dare you,” she whispered again, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears as a call to war, "What purpose does it serve to remove the dead from their final resting place? How can you disturb the Dendä in that manner?"  
“Do you not want to buy one? They ward off the spirits of the Dendä, if they should linger here on earth. And they serve to prove how we, men, are superior,” he explained.  
“And for that reason you believe it right. To burn the bodies of those who protected you and sell their bones? You do not know the danger you now face! You destroyed the Dendä kind, the ones who watched over you and guided you,” she shot, her voice angry and filled with hate.  
“You're not looking to buy anything, are you?" he realized, backing away, "Wait, are you a Dendä?"  
“How dare you do this to my people! Was it not enough for them to be slaughtered, you had to burn and sell their bones as trinkets!" she cried, pulling one of her broadswords from her side.  
The man's eyes widened as he called out: "We got a Dendä here boys!"  
Immediately, many of the men who lined the streets began to approach her.  
“I warn you, leave me to my victim or watch the town smolder,” she swore, brandishing her weapon. "Not one of you can defeat me.”  
Yet they ignored her warnings. Drawing in a deep, slow breath, she prepared to fight. Greyfer felt the call of battle too, and tensed his body with a new kind of power. Not of fear, but preparing for war. He jiggled in place, half prancing and chomped at the bit, proving he was ready for combat.  
"I give you one last chance. If you do not leave him to this fate, by dawn this ground with run with blood. Not one of you shall be spared.”  
Yet still they held their ground. One man, a large, burly fellow with a club in his hand, approached her. Before he could so much as calculate his first blow, she cut him down with her broadsword, feeling his head from his shoulders. That was enough. She wheeled Greyfer around and began to cut down the others who had come to the vender's aid. Soon, they lay still on the ground, not even able to touch her before breath left their bodies. Men and women ran, realizing the severity of her threat. This wanderer meant her words, it was not some empty, foolish threat. Momentarily, she returned her sword to its sheath and pulled out her bow.  
Her reflexes were lightning quick, and she shot down several villagers within seconds. All it took was one shot with her deadly aim to send an arrow through their heart. These people, perhaps not all evil, but all bringing her hate upon their heads. The idea of good people in this town did not matter. All that mattered was the evil that lived. To her, they had brought this wrath upon themselves. The skulls that sat in the windows with candles through the middle were testimony. Those who treated the death of her people so lightly as to sell their remains brought death upon themselves.  
Like a wildfire, she swept through town, cutting down man, woman, and child alike. The town was small, and they did very little to fight back. People ran through the streets, trying to escape. But her deadly senses did not allow so much as one to escape to safety. Some tried to survive by staying in their homes, but that did not save them. As she went, slaughtering all, she burned the houses behind her. With a wave of her hand, she commanded the house to burst into flames. All the houses but one. The vender. She was saving him for last. Finally, she reached the top of the hill, the far exit to the small town of no more than twenty homes and shops. By then, her black veil had been swept off, joining the trail of terror she left in her wake. Her golden hair streamed behind her in a braid, some loose strands whipping about her face. Greyfer reared, letting out a mighty scream into the night. Once again, she had drawn her sword, and now raised it high into the air in triumph. Her black cloak streamed out behind her in the wind while her horse struck out into the air. In that moment, she became death itself. The sight would have brought terror to all who saw, but none were left to see. The orange light illuminated her, making her all more menacing. In the dying flames, the regiments of the houses crackled. A shop of children's toys began to fall in on itself, sending the smoldering dolls into the streets. But it did not turn her eye.  
Instead, she turned Greyfer around again. Back into the town. She let him walk, though the heaviness of his breath said he wanted more. Slowly, slowly, she crept towards the man who had brought forth her wrath. Taking out her knife, she let her blood-stained sword return to its sheath again. Soundlessly, she moved over the ground, entering the shop that mocked her people. Charred bones lay scattered about, her people now mixed with that of those she had slain. Seeing one smiling skull still sitting on a shelf, she knelt in reverence. Bowing her head, she paid her respects to those who died. To those who suffered the horrible fate from which she had been spared. Kissing her fingers, she laid them on the top of the skull. It filled her with more hate, rather than peace.  
Like a hound she searched for the man. It took her a matter of minutes, to find him, cowering beneath a workbench. Smiling, revealing in her malice and contempt, she drew her knife up. The man drew in a breath, sure it was his last. Instead, she brought the knife down into his upper leg, causing him to cry out. His blood pooled out, and he whimpered. She withdrew her weapon, inspecting the blood dripping from the blade.  
"Come then,” she hissed, kicking over the bench and grabbing him by the hair and hauling him up, forcing him to stand on his wounded leg.  
“Please, please, I never meant any harm,” he begged, trying in vain to be spared.  
The rest of his town was dead, still where they lay. But not him. No, she was too cruel for that. She never answered his pleas; they fell on deaf ears. Dragging him to the center of town, she tossed him onto the ground by Greyfer. The man grabbed at his leg, trying to stop the bleeding.  
“It's only a flesh wound. You will survive, for now,” she scoffed, kicking him over.  
The man stayed crumpled by Greyfer's side, too terrified to move. From her knapsack, she drew a length of rope. Uncoiling it, she wrapped it tightly, very tightly, around his wrists, then tied it to her saddle.  
"Stand,” she commanded.  
The merchant stumbled to his feet, shaking. He knew his fate was death, but when and how was yet to be revealed. He knew it was long, painful, true to the nature of this woman. From within her knapsack, she pulled a small strip of cloth. Roughly, she shoved it into his mouth and tied it tightly behind his head, muzzling him. Unable to resist it any longer, she gave him a sharp slap across the cheek. Then, for a moment, she stared at him, looking him in the eye. It was as though she wanted to prove to him that she could. That she had no fear of her actions. That she was not like the others. She could face the consequences. In the end, it was him who looked away. As soon as he did, she turned away and swung up onto her horse. First, she took tied his rope to the place she would normally attach saddlebags. Then, she gathered up her reins and clucked to her steed. The man, limping badly from his wound, did all he could to keep up and stay on his feet. Once, he fell. Immediately, she yanked on the rope hard, nearly dislocating his arms. With the loose end of the rope, she spun around and lashed him on the back. He nearly fell forward in surprise and pain, but managed to hold himself up.  
For the rest of the night, and all of the following day, she dragged him without ceasing. Not once had they stopped, or even slowed. She never needed to water her mount, nor stop to shade herself from the sun. His throat burned with thirst and his legs had gone numb with pain. His feet now were covered with blisters and his skin burned in the sun. Long since they started his wrists had rubbed raw and now bled. His limp was far worse now, and he needed to stop. But she never let him. Finally, that night, she halted her horse long after the sunset. It was deep into a forest, near some fallen log that acted as a shelter.  
Without a word, she swung off of her horse and pulled off his saddle. She carried it easily, and hung it on the nearest branch. Next, to his surprise, she pulled off his bridle and set the horse loose. Instead of running off, he shook out his black mane and turned to grazing in the grass nearby. He made no attempt to leave, and did not even show an interest in exploring. The woman threw off her black cloak for the first time, revealing she was heavily armed with an assortment of knives, swords, and additional weapons. Her body was very appealing, as she was slender and young. Her outfit clung tightly to her, far too tightly for most women. But it only made sense as she obviously was used to combat. Finally, she turned to him. Taking the rope that bound his hands off of the saddle, she tied it tightly to a tree. Giving him one stern, unmoving look, she removed his gag.  
"Thank you,” he said, his mouth aching from the tight cloth.  
“Try to escape, and I will kill you,” she warned.  
Her voice was not particularly threatening, but it was enough.  
“You have already proven yourself enough. I need not give you another reason to harm me.”  
“You know why I took you, I presume?" she asked, her voice smooth and taunting.  
“Only an idiom would be ignorant to your reasoning,” he answered.  
“You…” she began, but drifted off, "You are the most vile, terrible, horrific creature ever to crawl on this earth!" she screamed, her face inches from him, "I hate what you did, and for it you had to pay. How could you sell the bones of the people you slaughtered! All they ever did was protect you. All they ever did was try to keep you safe, and you betrayed them,” her voice turned there from anger to a more sorrowful, saddened tone.  
“It wasn't me. I simply tried to profit from them,” he offered, being the only excuse he had, "I had to support myself somehow. It's not easy these days. The divides, they make it hard to make a decent living. They take whatever produce they want, without paying. They steal merchandise and kill those who refuse. This was a better option.”  
“The divides. Yes, the divides. You know about them. You must have some information. What is it they seek?" she asked, changing the conversation.  
“The treasure..,” he answered.  
“But what is the treasure!"  
“No one knows, it's just some famed treasure. You ought to know, ain't you?"  
“No, I do not. But it does not matter. If you do not have information about them, I will get it elsewhere,” she scoffed, "And as for you. I am going to sleep. If you disturb me, I will kill you. If you run away, I will hunt you down and slaughter you where you stand. Do not try anything. I am a warrior, one who will never stop hunting you.”  
Early the next morning, he woke to the sound of her footsteps approaching. The horse was still nearby, and he greeted his master with a gentle nicker.  
"Morning Greyfer,” she muttered, patting his neck on her way to the tack.  
From her knapsack, she pulled some manner of dried fruit and a small chunk of bread. His mouth watered, but she offered him none. By now, without food or water, he was failing. The blood loss had made him dizzy, and already he wished for death. Now that she had eaten, she stepped towards him.  
"Get up,” she barked, kicking him hard in the ribs.  
Weakly, he managed to stand. He watched as she untied the rope and turned towards the saddle again. When he did not follow, she yanked it hard, causing the rope to bite into his blistered wrists and break the scabs which had formed overnight.  
For another entire day, she dragged him alone behind her. His heels and feet were bleeding freely. Yet the stolid woman never even looked back at him. She did not care if he suffered. Why should she? He was the man who had sold her ancestors remains. She intended to kill him. Naturally, a woman of such wrath meant to kill him slowly and painfully. It was only a matter of time. If he fell, she let him fall, but did not slow her horse. She let him drag until he was able to regain his footing. That was the kind of woman she was. Hateful and full of vengeance. Wanting to make him suffer more and more. Pay blood drop for drop for all the pain he had caused. The terror he had reeked upon the land. Now, he was the one on whom terror was reeked.

And miles away, a single man aboard a by stallion rode. His black hair was tied back, crisp from dried sweat and greasy with oil. He had been riding for days now, a pointless wanderer. His stallion walked slowly, and the traveler sat slumped on his back, bent over from years of hardship. No longer did he hold his head up high. No longer did he dream of a beautiful, bright future. Now, the only future he dreamed of was death. To sleep endlessly away from the toils of earth. Away from anger and hate. Away from pain and a body wearing thin. But most of all way from suffering, sorrow, and despair.  
So long had he been bent with grief that happiness was but a distant memory. His heart had been broken, shattered into a million pieces and so far beyond repair. Many a woman had turned his way, trying to woo the handsome man. But none had healed him. Instead, they simply tore his heart into more unmendable shreds. There was nothing, no one who lived, who could ever stay his sorrows. Never had he looked at a woman gently, with love in his eyes. No longer. The light had long since dulled as his hands grew more calloused. Every night, he drunk away his sorrows then fell into the fitful sleep of a destroyed man. What did life or death matter to him now?  
Yet he continued to work, if only to fulfil her last request. The last request of the one who had torn his heart to shreds. She asked him, begged him, to go on. To live another life. To be happy. Yet no. He endured, but his heart was taken with her. As she had forever closed her eyes, so had his heart been forever yanked beyond grasp. There was nothing for him now, only the endless torment of a longing man.  
The stallion had long since given up his careful movements around rocks to keep silent. There was no reason for him to be quiet, as no one hunted his master any longer. His hooves clipped at rocks, but his gait remained steady. Along behind him, the palomino mare ambled. She was the one whose master had died. Ever since, the mare refused any other rider, save his master. His master was barely able to look at the poor mare, so great was his pain. He only rode the little horse once a month, and only for short distances. Still, he was always kind to her, and made sure she had enough exercise. He simply could not bear to be around her.  
The man on his back sat slouched in the saddle. What he was searching for did not matter. He simply journeyed on endlessly. From town to town he wandered without point. He did not care to help those around him, he simply felt restless in his grief. The sky was now starting to darken, and a village, or otherwise the smoldering ruins of it, appeared in his view. The sharp smell of smoke filled his nose, causing him to sit at attention. Quickly, he gathered up his reins and clucked twice to his steed. The stallion fell into a long-strided but slow trot. He sat the stallion's stride, jigging a little in the saddle as he moved. This was unlike anything he had seen in a long time. He knew, though he did not care, that there were warring divides. However, they usually battled in grudge matches, never letting their skirmishes harm towns or property.  
This was different. This was an act of deliberate destruction, and there were no markings linking the divides to this. If it was one of the divides, they would have left their sign everywhere, warning other divides from interfering. Yet there were none. His horse jogged underneath the charcoaled sign that once marked the village and named it. Unreadable, and ready to collapse. He knew his stallion would not shy away from the smell or sounds of a smoldering town, as he was a horse trained for battle. If anything, the prospect of war would excite him. The bay flared his nostrils, bringing in the smell of death. Yet, the palomino did not even raise her head like the stallion, as she too mourned her late master.  
Interested and worried, he looked about the town. Bodies littered the streets, men, women, and children alike, all slaughtered. Divides would never had done that, they would have taken the women and left the children alive. Whoever did this was evil. They were cruel and without a heart.  
Swinging off of his mount, he knelt by one of the dead. He pulled out an arrow, buried deep in his heart, to inspect it. The weapon was fine, intricately carved by the feathers to show a small flower. There was no doubt. This was the work of a Dendä.  
At that horrific thought, he sank to his knees. One of his own people cut down man, woman, and child alike. This was the work of a monster. Who kills the innocent child for the crimes their parents committed? Who sees all those of one kind as the same? These people were innocent. Yet they were slaughtered for the wrongs of their kind. Shaking his head, he felt the terrible pangs of such wrongs. Even the great stallion at his side understood the pain of such wrongdoings. This was the work of a monster.


	7. Vengeance and Justice

Chalandra sat on her great steed, dragging the cause of such pain behind her. So many days had passed now, and he felt the claws of death starting to close around him. Yet there was peace. Peace in knowing he would soon be at rest. The last few days had been the greatest torture he had ever known. She had forced him to walk, day and night, without rest, without food or water. The dizziness of dehydration was his constant companion. His captor beat him at the smallest infraction, wanting to cause him pain before he laid his head forever. Perhaps he did deserve it.  
With every blow, he saw their faces. The faces of the lives he had taken. The whole town had reveled in such an event, taking turns beating them until their life was spent. Their kind had been cruel to the Dendä, the stragglers who managed to survive the war. Anytime a traveler brought a Dendä through the town, or even if a Dendä ventured in, he purchased or captured them for sport. Then, once they were freshly killed, he would char their bones. The men were often beaten or burned alive, much to the thrill of the town, but the women suffered a worse fate. Due to their perfect, unstained beauty, the men often enjoyed the company of their captive prior to her slaughter. But in the end, that was how they all ended. In screams of terror as their lives were stolen away.  
Of course, all towns were not like that. Many in fact sympathized with the Dendä kind. They wanted to help them, shield them from the divides and those who hunted them. That was not Gonsern. The small town she had destroyed. That was its name, prior to its demise. The scum of the earth had all settled there, even he believed that. The cruel, the criminal. They were the ones in Gonsern. In fact, though he had once lived there, now he believed the world was better off without that drunken end of the earth. It was the town like the end of a river, where all manner of scum and slime settled. He had once made a living there, being just as vile as the rest. Now, he saw its death and destruction was a necessary evil. Perhaps, in its stead, something greater could come to the land. As for him. He deserved to die. He accepted that fact and embraced it. Death was not on his mind, not until now. However, perhaps this mysterious lady was right. Maybe he did deserve to die for his crimes.  
Chalandra remained cold and stoic on her horse. Her gaze was cast away. She would not grace him with pity. She may be wrong. Perhaps she should not have slaughtered the town. It did not matter. This was her way of fulfilling her task. To keep the peace, she had to bring about war. That was the way it was for her. Through war, peace. If the lands of men were to behave vilely, she would treat them in the same manner. Whether it was right or wrong, she would spend these twenty years in solitude, fulfilling her penance before she was reunited with the man she loved.  
Four days now she had dragged her miserable captive along behind her. She had not so much as given him a drink of water. Now, he grew feebly week. Blood was caked over sores all over his body. In short, he was a ghastly sight. It was time. She had torched him enough. It was time for his slaughter. That night, when she stopped her great stallion, she began to gather wood. Her captive sat, shaking with fear. He knew what this meant. She intended to end him now.  
Finally, near midnight, she came for him. There was darkness in her eyes, a malice like none other. Fear passed through him, electrifying his body. He looked back at her, begging for his life without words. Yet she was too far past reason. She wanted blood. She wanted to watch him burn, and in so would satisfy her raging bloodlust. If only he had more information about the divides, the locations of their hideouts. He might then be spared. But alas, this was his end.  
Without a word, without even a sound, she grabbed him by the collar of his torn shirt. A few steps she dragged him, being unable to rouse himself and walk to his death nobly. Roughly, without pity, she tossed him in the center of a large circle of wood. He quaked with fear as she began to pile the wood over his head, encasing him in a flaming tomb. In the dark, his heartbeat raging as he knew this was the end, he sat, awaiting his doom.  
Then he heard it, the sound of brush catching fire. Slowly, a yellow-orange light began to creep, the heat began to radiate around his body. Between the cracks of the sticks, he saw the flames flickering, coming to claim him. The fire began to nip at his skin, burning him. As the fire raged, he saw her, standing outside. She looked on, stolid and stony. Her black cloak whipped around her, making her appear like death itself.  
And he cried out, but the face of the beautiful woman before him remained stone cold. His own screams echoed in his ears. Yet she did not even show pity in her eyes. Instead, they reflected the fire, terrible and cruel. Uncaring and as vengeful as the fire itself. The smoke filled his lungs, suffocating him. The fire failed to burn away his bounds, and instead ate at his skin. He closed his eyes, hoping to shut out the pain, but it was greater than anything other emotion ever could be. Now he understood. He understood why she wanted him to die in such a horrible way. It was not out of spite, it was not out of rage, it was out of love. She wanted him to feel the same pain she suffered. The pain she felt every day, breathed in every minute. His pain would end, but hers would not.  
Day in and day out, in the sunlight and in the moonlight, she suffered. Her people had been mercilessly slaughtered; she had seen the horrors of the war that ended her people. And she bore those burdens alone. Perhaps there was even someone, once, long ago. Perhaps she had even watched him burn. Now, she was forcing her pain on another. She forced him to feel the same pain that consumed her day and night, tormenting her endlessly. When she had seen the horrific deeds he had done, it must have exemplified her pain by a thousand times.  
Finally, his body began to fail him. The burning sensation in his lungs began to fade. The flames still consumed him, but the pain began to subside. His head started to turn to fog, and his thoughts became mere whispers. Slowly, his mind trailed off and his cries became mere whimpers. And so he passed into the darkness, moaning as the flames ate the skin off his bones and as death herself stood by and watched.  
Outside of the flames, Chalandra stood, unmoved by the pain of another. He deserved that death. She was tasked to keep the peace, and so the peace she was keeping. Never was she told how to keep the peace, only that she must protect the world of men from evil. And so she did, but not in the ways that would be considered right. Even still, as she struggled to justify her actions, she felt a nagging that she was wrong.  
Something, deep inside her heart, told her it was wrong. That she did not have the right to bring death upon others in such a manner. To kill was occasionally necessary, but she had slaughtered innocent blood. She had destroyed a town in her wrath. She needed someone. Someone to be her companion, to help her to stay her hand. Thane was who she needed, but he was so far, so distant. And it was forbidden. Twenty years of solitude, at least away from him. But someone else, someone as a companion, a friend.  
Slowly, the raging fire turned to smolders, and she turned away from the crackling embers. There was nothing for her here. Nothing. Without a word, she grabbed Greyfer's reins and tossed them over her head. The stallion stood still, and let her climb aboard without protest. He felt her lightweight settle onto his back, and eagerly awaited her command. As she gathered the reins, she felt his body tense under the saddle. Instead, she simply let out a little rein and touched her lower leg to him. Her head bowed, just a little. She did not desire a frantic gallop, she just needed to move.  
The stallion obeyed and lowered his head. He started forward, slowly, as she had requested. Now, she searched another divide. With the moonless night, she tracked her prize. It was information she required, and there was little anyone could do to stop her. She had to know. What was this treasure? Did they endanger the lives of those around them? That she knew the answer to, yes. They did. They were warring on each other for a famed treasure and a rumored prize. They were willing to risk everything they had, their well-being, their lives and the lives of those around them for nothing. For something none of them even knew what was.  
And again, the call. The calling of something older than time and darker then the minds of men could dream. She did not trust it. Yet somewhere deep inside she knew exactly what it was. This treasure was not all it seemed to be. It was dark, so dark. So dangerous. It endangered the welfare of the world, now and forever. What could be so dark? So powerful. This famed treasure, it fed on the greed and lust of men. It thrived in their darkness, their hatred. And it terrified her.  
This feeling as all too familiar. It was a warning, against the destruction of all she had left to hold dear. It was the reason she had been summoned to protect the earth, that much she could feel. She knew, somewhere inside herself, was the answer to all her questions. Though she tried to seek answers from the divides, they did not know. None of them did. She was the answer, she had all the answers. But she had locked it away deep inside, the information she needed.  
Thane would know. If only she could be with him now. That was all she wanted. To be with him once more. He would keep her safe, from the demons both real and imagined; both within herself and from the world around her. He would protect her. He made her feel safe. That was a luxury she had lost so many moons ago. To feel safe. To be comforted. Now she belonged to the dark, to the moon and the stars. Beautiful, and enchanting, but cold and distant, so far away from the weary traveler, yet alluring to those who cared to watch.

As the sun rose, Chalandra arrived in some town. It was larger than the last place she had visited, and she wished to pass through unnoticed. She drew her cape about her, and lowered her head, covering her face with the veil in order to keep the sun off her face. Greyfer kept at a brisk jog, happy to be stretching his legs out after a long night of walking. He tossed his head a few times, blowing air in and out of his nose.  
"Easy now,” she muttered from his back.  
With her voice, he lowered his head and arched his neck, flicking his ears back towards the voice of his mistress. Seeing a sign labeling an establishment as an inn, she turned him towards it and slowed him to a walk. In front of the wooden walkway, she swung off her tall mount.  
"Stay here,” she murmured to him, leaving the reins looped over his head.  
As instructed, he stood still while she walked inside. By the door, two men stood, talking to each other.  
"Have you heard about all the killings happening lately?"  
“No, I can't say I have. What do you mean?" the other asked.  
“Well, an entire town, gone. One day, I was there trading goods. The next, I went back, gone. Burned to smithers. The townsfolk, I pity them, all shot down or otherwise cut down by the knife. All dead. Someone went through and killed them all,” the other man explained.  
Chalandra's heart stopped, the guilt of her crimes weighing heavily on her heart and mind. She bowed her head, but remained in the shadows.  
“Do you think it's them divides? I don't trust them. I think they are no good, and can only cause more trouble these days,” the second man asked.  
“You are right, they are not to be trusted,” Chalandra chimed in, stepping towards them.  
“What do you know?" the first man scoffed.  
“I do not know much, but I know they are not to be trusted. I do, however, want information. I need to know everything about them. Their names, the names of their leaders, their usual habits, their patterns. Do you know anything?" she urged, nearly pleading.  
“What does it matter? Why do you want to know about them? You know, that always raising questions among the towns, and the divides, they don't like it either. They like to keep all information to themselves,” the first man scolded, "And besides, what is a woman going to do with that information? A woman who rides astride a horse no less, and one who conceals their face.”  
Chalandra sighed. Reluctantly, she pulled her veil aside and commented: "Many people fail to notice the obvious."  
“What? You mean your gender? I may not be a smart man, but I can tell a woman by her voice,” the man laughed.  
“Fair enough. Yet I still need information. Can you tell me anything, anything at all?" she requested.  
“They're a secretive lot, the divides. Sometimes they come into the midst of town and fight to the death, right before our eyes. Yet they never give us any information, only those who join them know anything, and sometimes they don't even know a thing. They're searching out some treasure, and the winning divide plans to split the loot among all the soldiers. Those who join want a share of the treasure. Other than that, all I can say is that they are unfriendly, and are willing to kill each other and innocent others all alike to get what they want. As for names, that is something everyone knows. Rasonphel, Yewflower, Grenyett, and Bordea. Bordea, they're the most reasonable, and Rasonphel, they must be avoided. They are the worst of the worst. They actually inspire the violence in other groups, always attacking and killing.”  
“And as for their bases, where are they?"  
“That's not information any of us would have! They keep the locations of their bases very secret. The only way you can find them is if you already know where they are, or if you just stumble across them. However, most who do end up finding them are seldom seen again. Stay away from them, don't get involved at all. The divides choose who lives at their own will, don't make them target you. No one tells them what to do, no one. Sometimes, I think it's a bad thing, that they run unchecked by the law, but if we tried to contain them, that would mean open war we could not win. It's not worth it. In fact, we lose less lives by letting them kill then by trying to put them in check,” he explained, "But here's the real question, what does a woman want with such information? It's dangerous enough for a man to want to know such things, but a woman? That's a whole other story. They find out about stuff like this, people asking. And they track them down. Mark my words, you better stop asking if you know what's good for you. They will hunt you down. For you, I doubt they would kill you, but your fate would be worse than death. What's a pretty face going to do when faced with all those men? So I cannot imagine what business you would have with them.”  
“My business and my intentions are my own,” she shot back, unshaken by his warnings, "Now as for their bases, they are moderately hidden at best, it took me four hours. Their security is lax and avoidable. I am not afraid of their threats. If they even try to hunt me down, it is clearly a kind of near sight and ignorance that I find unnerving.”  
“And do you honestly believe that you, a feeble woman, can do what no one before you has been able to achieve? What do you even intend to do? You are crossing into dangerous territory,” he warned.  
“I am not just some meek woman incapable of caring for myself and protecting my wellbeing. I am not some gentle housewife who lives only to care for her husband, to bear him children at his bidding or pleasure him as he feels. I know what I am doing.”  
“So harsh on your own sex. Do you believe that is what women are like collectively?" he asked.  
“I believe our place is not just at man's foot, but by his side, as equals. For if I am to be the companion of a man, I must therefore be his equal, not treated as his lesser. You men believe we are property, something that is easily gained and easily discarded. Now, I must secure a place for the night.”  
Nodding to them in respect, she stepped away from them and passed through the doorway into the inn. It smelled musty, of stale bread and greasy stew, along with the sweaty smell of men after they return home from a long, hard day at work. But most strongly was the smell of brew. In every inn she visited, the smell was the only common thing. They always smelled terrible, and were usually run down and old, sometimes barely held together. Still, she had to stay somewhere. Reaching beneath her cloak, she pulled out her small pouch of money. Placing three bronze coins on the counter, she waited for a moment as the young woman retrieved a key for her.  
“Thank you,” she muttered, adjusting her knapsack on her shoulder as she made her way down the rather dark hallway.  
Finding her room, she unlocked it and tossed her knapsack to the floor. As there was nothing else for her to do, she returned to the dining room to eat some dinner before bed. Taking a seat at one of the small, worn wooden tables, she was quickly greeted by young woman.  
“Just some bread and dried meat, please,” she requested, having no desire for anything elaborate.  
The dining room, though small, was already buzzing with people. She watched as the woman dashed from table to table, trying to keep all of the men satisfied. She returned to Chalandra with a glass of water and the requested food a moment later. In response, Chalandra simply nodded and started on her food. She had been served a fairly large hunk of bread, and two moderate slices of dried meat, likely deer from a recent hunt. Sitting back on her wooden chair a little, she picked up the meat and began to chew the salty, tough food. Glancing around the room, she saw she was one of the few women present. That was not uncommon for her, to be one of few women staying at the inn. She was used to it, and hardly afraid of whatever men she may encounter. She could hold her own, far more easily than anyone ever expected of her. She was never afraid, but she was almost always lonely. She desired companionship. She desired Thane. Yet first, she had to create peace. But before that, she had to understand who the divides were, and what they wanted.  
Lost in her thoughts, she quickly realized she had been staring straight ahead, making it rather awkward for all those entering the room. Realizing her mistake, she lowered her gaze back to her merger meal, trying to appear more normal, to blend in with those around her though she never truly did. Without warning, a scruffy man in a homespun, worn clothing took a seat in the chair across the table from her, as though he knew her. Startled, though not surprised, as it had happened a few times prior, she raised her gaze to meet him. He was clearly used to hard work and labor, his skin weathered from years in the elements. His hair was brown, kept short so to avoid unnecessary time spent keeping it in order. His clothing was colored with the forest in mind, so it was clear he was used to spending time avoiding being seen. Though he was not an unattractive man, she did not want any attention, much less from any lusty men who she frequently encountered.  
“I mean no disrespect, but I do not know you,” she said flatly, raising her eyebrows.  
Usually men took that as a signal to leave, unless they were terribly persistent.  
“Are you expecting someone then? For I did not think you were, given you have already begun eating without your count part. Generally, it is considered impolite to eat without your guest present, leaving me to conclude you are in fact eating alone, meaning this seat is not taken,” he returned, showing he had no intentions of leaving his seat.  
“Indeed, I am eating alone, as I always do. Yet that hardly makes a stranger a welcome guest at my table. I tend to prefer to be alone with my thoughts.”  
“Surely you get bored of being alone so often. A woman such as yourself should not have that problem save when she chooses.”  
“I choose, for I do not appreciate the unwarranted attention of strange men. I prefer to spend my time in solitude,” she assured him, hoping he would leave if she continued to challenge him.  
“Surely you must get lonely,” he pressed.  
“Never lonely enough to engage with those I do not care about nor care to know about,” she snapped, growing short.  
“I see. I enjoy meeting women with strength such as yours. It is a rarity to behold. Most women have become submissive lambs, doing nothing more than their master’s bidding. Even women who have never been married fall victim to this, for they have seen it from their mothers and their mothers before them. It is the simple truth that most women act in such a manner.”  
“You are not mistaken, although you have chosen to ignore my previous hints, which I deeply despise,” she shot, setting down her dried meat, “So I will put it very clearly and simply for your ignorant, arrogant head. Leave me alone.”  
“There is it, that rare and incredible spirit. I could tell you would have it,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair, “I do love when a woman tells me off.”  
“I can imagine that is frankly the only thing women ever do with you.”  
“You’d be surprised what a woman does when you hold out against their lashings and in fact, compliment them for it. They never find that anymore. Instead, they are used and misused until they are nothing more than compliant beasts of burden, always keeping house and tending the children. But women with spunk, with a fire, they are the ones a man should truly wish to pursue. For they are the loyalist and most honest of companions. Once they find a man who truly cares for them, they will never let him leave their side, nor will they leave their marriage to crumble to a poor remnant of what it once was, or what it could have been. No, they fight to the end for what they believe in, and for whom they care.”  
“Your words are true, that much I admit. Though I will warn you now, your flattery will do nothing for me. I have a man I hold dear.”  
“Then where is he? Did he simply send you off on some trip to gather information for him?” he asked, leaning forward again.  
“I beg your pardon? I am afraid I do not know what you mean,” she scoffed, leaning back into her chair.  
He was making her uncomfortable, though she had encountered far more slimy men, there seemed something else wrong with him.  
“You are not searching for information then?”  
“Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not. What difference does it make to you?”  
“You see, I thought I overheard you trying to glean information from some of the village men. I can assure you, they know nothing, at least not like I do. I know far, far more.”  
“About?” she pressed, not thinking he had any information, but was trying to lead her on and draw her in.  
“The divides,” he answered, a broad smile crossing his face, “There, you see, I know. That name hardly means anything to those in this town, but it should matter to them. You care about them though, else you wouldn’t be asking information about them.”  
“It is true, I search for information on them. However, I doubt you can be of any help to me,” she replied, shaking her head a little as she took a sip of water.  
“So little faith, so little trust. I see your reason for doubt, but what if I told you I could get you a meeting. That I could arrange for you to speak to one of the divide’s leaders, and that you could get your information that way?” he inquired.  
“Why would you?” she asked.  
“Well, I obviously would not do it for nothing.”  
“I see,” she interrupted, knowing there was a price. There was always a price. “Name your price, then.”  
“Money? No, I do not want money.”  
“I can give you no status, for I myself have never had power. In fact, I have never had any influence in any way. I have always been powerless, likely even more so than you, if you are as powerful with the divides as you claim to be.”  
“Not the divides, just the Yewflowers. I am a ranger. I work with them as a scout, and as someone who gathers information. I know they will want to speak with you as badly as you wish to speak with them,” he answered, smiling a little.  
“Why would they care to speak with a lone woman, travelling from place to place, who seeks nothing more than to understand why they kill, and most likely, disassemble their precious organizations piece by piece.”  
“First of all, you, a lone woman, as you say, would never be able to destroy even the weakest army by herself. For that much I can tell you, there is an army behind them. They have hundreds of men who would fight and die for this cause.”  
“And what cause is that?” she inquired casually.  
She realized only now she was treading on very thin ice. This could end up being an incredibly dangerous situation, one that most likely would end in the man’s death. If he knew too much about her, he had to be eliminated.  
“I suppose you will simply have to take me up on my offer,” he shrugged, “But I know they will want to meet you. You are powerful, no matter what I believe.”  
“You, a man who has obviously grown up in a society governed solely by men, believe a mere woman, a lone woman at that, without any money or land to her name, who clearly does not have a husband nor a man who cares for her, can hold any kind of power.”  
“I believe you hold just as much, if not more, power than you know. I know who you are, or rather what.”  
“What am I then, other than a woman who is living on stolen goods? You are a ranger, are you not? You should arrest me here and now for admitting to my crimes.”  
“Yet I cannot, can I? For if I so much as thought of it, you would have my head. That is how powerful you are.”  
“Are you suggesting I do hold power.”  
“I think you have influence, at least in some manner. More than you know. But I know you hold the power of the universe at your fingertips.”  
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, trying to act surprised.  
“You are a Dendä,” he answered with a chuckle, “You hold the power of the earth at your hands, yet you claim you have no power.”  
“Perhaps so, but I do not see what your divides would want with me. I will not be used as a weapon, nor will I lead any people into battle. I do not fight for your cause, nor do I desire a cause to fight for other than my own.”  
“We do not need a weapon, we simply need information, just as you do.”  
“What information would that be?” she pressed.  
“Take the meeting first, pay the price.”  
“Ah, that is right, your aforementioned price. What is it, I wonder?”  
The man lay his hand on hers, then looked up to her, saying: “I think you know.”  
Without a word, she drew one of her small knives from her belt and stabbed it through his sleeve, into the table. In surprise, he attempted to pull back, only to realize he was pinned to the table. Before he could react and remove the knife, she pressed one of her longer hunting knives against his throat.  
“Clearly, you know nothing about Dendä women. We are often trained to fight alongside our men, though we were generally a patriarchal society. Still, we know how to fight and die for our cause,” she hissed, letting the sharp of the blade rub against his stubby neck, as he had clearly gone a few days without shaving, “I am not some object, nor do I need you. I realize now, if your people wish a meeting with me so badly, I do not need you. I could simply cut out the middle man, as it were. There is nothing you can do for me, that I cannot do for myself. So if you wish to live to breathe another day, I suggest you rescind your offer, and instead, take me to your people, free of all charges.”  
Swallowing hard, he nodded frantically, though careful to avoid the sharp blade. Even pressed lightly against his throat, he realized it was sharpened to perfection, as a few drops of blood already trickled down the blade. Satisfied, Chalandra removed the blade from his neck and returned it to its sheath. Soundlessly, she moved to return to her seat across from him. Shaking, he tried to remove the knife from the table, but found it too deeply lodged in the wood. As she moved, with perfect grace, to return to her seat, she grabbed the knife and pulled it from the table without effort. Twirling it between her fingers, she likewise returned it to her belt, then took her seat opposite his.  
“I want to meet with your people tomorrow, dawn, at the forest’s edge,” she commanded.  
Instantly, the man jumped up and scurried out the door, fearing for his life. Satisfied, she sighed deeply, returning to her food. Though she tried to conceal it, she had a bit of a smirk, pleased she had so efficiently terrified him. She had found it incredibly satisfying, since she had been restored to life, to scare men who prided themselves on being dominant among woman. Or, even simply found themselves treating women as mere objects. It made her laugh, to see them so quickly reduced to nothing by a mere threat that so easily rolled off her tongue. She had never taken pride in that before, but now, having found her strength, she enjoyed it immensely. Furthermore, she knew the man would in fact make good on his word, simply out of terror. There was no doubt the meeting would go forward the following morning, especially since she had seen the pure terror on his face.  
When she had finished her merger meal, she set down two bronze coins and rose from her seat. As she walked through the dining room, she noticed the men around her seemed to move out of her way, as though afraid she was going to hurt them without reason. Obviously, they had overheard her run in with the man, moments before, and were worried she was going to harm them. Nearly every man, old, young, fat, slender, all leaned away. Almost every eye was on her as she walked across the wood panel flooring, the sound of her boots echoing through the room. That was the only audible sound. Every other noise had been silenced, all for fear of the young woman. It was only then that it occurred to her, from the moment she had threatened the man, she had heard next to no noise around her. All the chatter had died down, every lively conversation had been ended. All eyes fixed on her, fearing her wrath and her power. Squaring her shoulders a little, she tried hard to suppress the small smile that begged to spread across her face. Yet she would not gloat that much. Instead, she let the smirk of a smile remain, her shoulders back and her stride long and easy. As she came to the doorway, she flipped her hair back a little and passed through. No one would likely get in her way, and men always told other men. At least in this town, no one would so much as dare to lay a hand on her.


	8. Empty Threats

The following morning, she rose before the sun, and moved to sit on the edge of her bed. Resting her elbows on her knees, she sat still for a moment, only breathing. Though she was young, by traditional Dendä standards, she felt old. She felt worn through. She had been struggling to travel from town to town, searching for the divides. Yet she now she was finally going to meet with them, at least one of them. One meeting would likely lead to another, once the word was out about her, one of the last remaining Dendä. People would want to speak with her, though they were incorrect in believing she would have information. Still, she could at least glean information from them.  
Discouraged by the day ahead, she let her head sink a little further down. Cradling her neck in her hands, she rubbed it a little, then ran her hand across her shoulders. She was growing strong, that much she knew. She had developed muscles were she previously had next to none. Eventually, no one would dare to touch her. She was already powerful, and had become a strong warrior, skilled in the art of combat. Still, she dreaded the day before her. The long, lonely day with nothing but cold and solitude.  
Still, she had a meeting. She had to go, to gain whatever information was available from the Yewflower divide, and move on her way. Whatever was happening, it was a war. A full out war between the divides. A war that waged in the towns, in the cities. A war that was destroying homes and families, for it was not soldiers who fought this war, but ordinary men who believed they had something to be gained by fighting. These men, they were killing each other over something she did not understand, nor even know what was. Clearly, it was something that influenced them greatly. Something they believed had profound abilities or great hoards of wealth. Whatever it was, it was not worth the bloodshed. She had to become the peacemaker, to act as an intermediary and end the underground war. And yet, she was now no better. She may have been named the peacemaker, but she had turned darker than them. Though the thought haunted her, she was not yet ready to face it.  
Finally, she rose from the creaky bed, quickly gathering her weapons and returning them to their designated places. Before leaving, she grabbed her cloak from the edge of the bed and covered her shoulders with it, veiling her face as well. Without hesitation, she grabbed her knapsack from beside her bed and departed the tiny, windowless room she had called home for a night. Casting it over her shoulder, she strode down the hall, her boots making no sound as she went. As she passed by the dining room, she found it entirely empty, without so much as a young barmaid sweeping the floors. That hardly matter though, she did not need food that badly. She could eat later, if she was truly hungry. Most days, she had to force herself to eat, for her stomach could not take the thought of food. Shaking her head a little, she made her way through the abandoned entry area and through the front door, the crisp air greeting her as it engulfed her. If she was not fully awake before, she was now. It was chilly, but refreshing. Inhaling deeply, she tried to calm her soaring nerves, her adrenaline already surging through her veins, preparing her for a battle that may never come. She wanted to fight. She liked to fight. She lived to fight. And that was a terrifying thought indeed, for she had never before enjoyed killing. Now, she craved it.  
From the stables, she gathered Greyfer. Once she had tacked him, she swung up onto his back. With a click of her tongue, he was off, bounding into his long strided trot as soon as she requested it of him. In the crisp morning air, he tossed his head a little, feeling fresh and ready for a long run. As he raised his head, he snorted quickly a few times, reaffirming his desire to run. Smiling to herself, she allowed him to fall into a rolling canter. Satisfied, Greyfer lowered his head and stretched out his neck, though not enough to bear against the reins. It only took a moment to pass through the rest of the tiny town, Once outside, she let him flatten out into an easy gallop. Instantly, his head came up, and his nostrils flared, sucking in air. As he galloped, his strides became more even, more comfortable. Chalandra leaned up on his neck, just a little, to allow her steed to stride out under her more easily. The cold air became ever colder as the wind whipped through her hair, sending her tight braid streaming out behind her. Her cloak whipped out, billowing up, and failing to conceal some of her weapons. Usually, she tried to keep them hidden, yet there was no one around to see.  
Greyfer, being the ground-covering steed he was, carried her to the edge of the forest in under half an hour. As she neared the trees, she reined in her gelding, asking him to come to an easy jog. Though the horse loved to run, he was still obedient to his master, and came back to her the moment she asked. Sitting deep in her saddle, she slowed him to a walk, seeing five men on horseback ahead. Slapping her horse’s neck, she praised him for his work, then let her over hand fall to her side, on her sword hilt. Though she had no doubt the scout would have told them of her treachery, she did not trust these violent men who sent each other to kill their rivals. They clearly were not accustomed to showing mercy. Luckily, she was not either. However, if he was so certain they would desire to meet with her, what would they be willing to do in order to try to control her and gain information. If they were going to strike, they would likely be quick and brutal, not expecting to be met with equal force, despite their comrade’s warnings. Additionally, she knew she was beautiful. The man yesterday had simply reaffirmed her fears that many were not to be trusted, and a group of them would likely attempt to do more than simply make a deal. She was prepared, as always. She would never walk into such a situation without being heavily armed, and without making sure they could be controlled by her.  
As she approached them, they took up their horses’ reins and swung down. Once on the ground, they released the reins/ Their steeds, foaming at the mouth, their breath fogging the air as they struggled to find air, their sweaty sides producing nearly as much steam as their breath, lowered their heads and chomped at the bit. They stepped towards her, their hands, to her surprise, resting by their sides or crossed over their chest. Not a single one reached for a weapon or approached her a threatening manner. Confident and reassured they were not going to attack suddenly, she lay her reins down on Greyfer’s neck and slid off his broad back. For a moment, she paused and lay her hand on her horse’s neck, trying to determine whether it was safe for her to approach them. Seeing her hesitation, the men stopped a ways back, and waited for her to approach. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, but laid her hand on one of her knives concealed beneath her cloak. She halted a fair ways from them, still wary of them. One of the men stepped forward.  
“I hear you threatened one of our scouts last night.”  
“Your man lives,” she replied nonchalantly.  
“Indeed he does, and rather humbled I believe for he had never been put in his place by a woman before. Why did you let him live?”  
“I needed a meeting. He was the first one to offer it.”  
“I have no doubt of that. I hear he made a rather unreasonable offer in exchange to meet?”  
“Yes,” she replied quickly, feeling no need to belabor the issue, “If any of you make the same offer, I assure you, you will not be as lucky as your scout was.”  
“There’s no need to fear, I have no doubt you could handle yourself against us, based on what I have heard about a woman who has slowly been picking off certain divide members, but further from Crawson’s account of you. It is rather difficult to get one over on that man, so I do not underestimate your skills, simply because of your gender. Because of that, I ask that we keep this meeting peaceful.”  
“As do I, but I will do what is necessary,” she agreed, yet made certain they knew she was deadly.  
“My name is Granderson, this is Refel, Crifled, and Iscar,” he introduced, gesturing to his several soldiers, “To whom do I owe the pleasure.”  
“I notice you seem to act in a certain manner due to my gender, or do you speak to all your men in this manner?” she inquired.  
“You are correct, I do not. I have never been in this situation before, so it is rather foreign, for all of us. What is your name, then?”  
“I will not disclose that,” she answered, shaking her head.  
“Down to business then,” he shrugged, obviously a little put off that a woman was so strong willed and forward, "Why is it, a woman, such as yourself has so actively pursued audience with us?"  
“I seek information,” she replied, calmly and collected.  
“Regarding?"  
“The purpose of the divides, including their origins. Why were they created?"  
“After the Dendä were eliminated, we were unable to come to terms with one another. It was only a matter of time before split off.”  
“And what is the reasoning behind your split? Why was it initiated?" she pressed.  
“Power. It all came down to a matter of power. We attacked your kind through a grouping of four armies, one for each of your kingdoms. That meant we had four generals, of whom were very eager to assume full command after the battle was won. It was only natural that we separate, each general taking their men off and forming their divide.”  
“It was a failure to compromise? A mere power struggle?" she scoffed.  
“Call it what you may, mock if you please. We are doing well divided.”  
“You are waging war with each other. You are killing for no reason at all. Lives, families, are being torn apart because of selfishness. A failure to submit to the other's rule,” she said, shaking her head.  
“The Dendä, your people, were the same way. Your kingdoms, mostly the upper classes, looked down on the others. I can only imagine it was years of war that established that system.”  
“War, yes, years of it, endless war, no. It could have been, but it was not. My ancestor ensured that was not the case. He surrendered on behalf of the fire Dendä, thereby starting the peace. He was a great war leader, and could have won, but he believed in peace. He believed lives were more important than power,” she explained.  
“You do not,” he condemned, lowering his voice just a little.  
“I believe there is a time and a place for me to act peacefully. It is not now, as you are cutting down the innocent Dendä who still live. If I must resort to violence to keep them safe, so be it.”  
“Then how can you condemn me?" he asked, starting to grow agitated with her.  
“Your warring tribe against tribe. Not only, but you are ripping lives apart. You are even involving civilians. You do not spare the innocent, you drag them into the endless war. You kill them all alike if it means you are able to kill off the one person who may or may not be carrying information.”  
“Well, you have very graciously shared your thoughts. What other information do you care to ask me?"  
“What is the purpose of the divides? What do they want?" she asked.  
“The treasure.”  
“What treasure?"  
“The greatest treasure of all the earth. Greater than all the other riches of the world combined. It would give the ruling divide unlimited power. It is the ultimate prize, worth every drop of blood spilled,” he replied, smiling broadly, "Do you know what that is?"  
“Why should I?" she inquired.  
“You are a Dendä, are you not?"  
“What would that have to do with anything?"  
“The Dendä were the ones in possession of the treasure, before they were killed off.”  
“And?" she pressed.  
“I need it. I need to know where it is, and how to get to it.”  
“What makes you believe I know? I came here to inquire about the origins of the divides, as well as their purpose. Why should I hold knowledge to your questions?"  
“You are a Dendä, you should know where to find this. Surely they did not die off without leaving the whereabouts in the hands of other Dendä They would want to know where to find it.”  
“You should have thought all that through before you killed them off. There is such a thing as regret. You should have anticipated they would know something you did not, and then would regret their slaughter.”  
“I do not need to regret their elimination, I have you. You know about it, I am sure of that.”  
“What makes you so unwaveringly sure?" she asked again.  
“You are a Dendä.”  
“Your generalization means absolutely nothing me! I do not know anything about your acclaimed treasures,” she scoffed.  
“Why would you not? Were you not married to a high-ranking noble?"  
“I was not married to him, we were engaged. And contrary to your belief, he did not tell me everything, nor did he know everything. Neither of us were terribly popular. Him, for his stances of prominent issues and the way he went about those issues. Me, for my background,” she explained, "I take it that you do not know anything about my background?"  
“You were a noble?"  
“You are terribly uneducated on the very race you wish to pursue. I was not a noble, I was a slave. I killed my master and escaped to a small village, where I met my future fiancé. I was never popular among his peers, as I was below their rank and inferior. Besides, I have very little knowledge about the time during my imprisonment.”  
“So you know nothing?"  
“Not a thing. I was hoping you, at the very least, would know what this famed treasure could be.”  
“No, we do not know.”  
“And yet you are willing to end thousands of lives over something you have no idea what is? It could be nothing, you relay on rumor. It could be entirely and completely irrelevant. It could never have existed at all!" she suggested, shocked by their rashness.  
“It exists.”  
“What proof do you have? Any at all?"  
“No, but I know it does, I can feel it. And if it is out there, we will find it, no matter the cost.”  
“Where will you start? You do not even know what it is like, what is looks like. You have no idea where to begin your search and what information you can trust,” she scoffed.  
“I does not matter. We shall not be hindered from finding this treasure. Now, we have the greatest secret, the greatest weapon. No one will be able to beat us to it now.”  
“Why, what is it that you have acquired?" she inquired.  
“You,” he marveled.  
“You are wrong. You cannot keep me here, and you cannot force me. I shall do nothing of the sort, and there is no way you will ever be able to make me,” she scoffed.  
“Perhaps not, but we at the very least have you here. That means you cannot help our enemies.”  
“I know even less about the treasure then you do. What use could I ever be? Besides, you will be unable to keep me here, I assure you,” she said coyly, unafraid and undaunted.  
“I believe we will be able to hold you here, even if against your will.”  
“Think again. I am stronger and more powerful than I look,” she challenged, shaking her head, "But what could you want with me? I do not know anything.”  
“As you keep saying. However, the Dendä were great empaths. You can probably form some kind of a link with the treasure, or otherwise find a way to lead us there.”  
“What an extradentary idea,” she mocked, "Certainly, allow me to lead you to the most valuable thing in the world using only my mind and thereby find something I have no idea if even exists.”  
“You mock, but you will help us.”  
“I mock for I know the truth. You can never force me to do anything against my will, and you certainly will not now.”  
“You have to.”  
“Or else?" she pressed.  
“We will kill your fiancé, the man you love.”  
“If anyone can find him, it is me. Yet I too am unable to find him. Besides, he can take care of himself. If you cannot find him, you certainly cannot hurt him. Bring him to me when you find him, then your threat is more realistic. Currently it is just some poorly organized thoughts,” she taunted, waving her hand in dismissal.  
“You will still help us.”  
“No, I shall not,” she said, shaking her head, "Now, I believe I will be going.”  
“Not so quickly.”  
“Get out of my way, or I shall tear apart this divide, piece by piece,” she threatened.  
“Is that a threat?"  
“Try me,” she challenged, "I fear you will not be pleased with the results.”  
“I will allow you to leave.”  
“Oh, how very noble of you.”  
“I will allow you to leave, if you give me another piece of information on the divide.”  
“I do not know anything!" she exclaimed, frustrated.  
“You are a Dendä, take a guess.”  
“I do not know why it was hidden, but I assume there was a reason. Dendä were not so greedy that they would lock away riches for no reason, they would have spent it. My best assumption is that it is not just wealth, but something else that comes with it. Leave it be, that is the best idea,”  
“Or what? You can hardly do anything to stop us.”  
“Oh, but I can. You underestimate me, and that is your most fatal flaw. Do not underestimate a woman scorned,” she warned, turning her back to the men.  
She would have no more dealings with them, least not friendly.


	9. Chance Meetings

The night was dark, without moon and without stars. If not for her perfect vision, a gift from her people, Chalandra would have been blind in the night. She knew they would come. After months of hunting down scouts and messengers, she had finally been told enough of their plans to know. The Yewflower and the Raphsenfel divide. They had always been the gravest enemies, more so than any other of the divides. The Raphsenfel intended to destroy the Yewflower as a mere message to the other divides. They wanted to be the only divide.  
Slowly, painstakingly slowly, she crept in the thick undergrowth of the forest. There. The flames of seven torches burst through the night. In the distance, she could see the men moving like shadows along the ridge. Twenty in the scout party alone, this was large campaign. There, more light. Five more torches from the other side, the Yewflower. Two captains, now meeting. The guards, standing close, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.  
Clothed in all black and without any kind of carried light, Chalandra was invisible to divides. They would never expect her, that was one thing she made sure of. Never strike when they would expect, always at random. She was on no one's side, not any more. It was crucial that they could never, ever predict her presence. If they did, all the divides would try to take her. She was the ultimate weapon.  
Quickly, she veered left, towards the Yewflowers. So sick of bloodlust between the warring divides that she now would take part in it. They had scorned her, underestimated her, so now they would pay the price. She would not aid the Raphsenfel by killing the Yewflowers, but by defending them. Even though she was helping them, they would never know of her presence, not until the following morning when the bodies were found. Then, only then, would they see the true enemy they had created.  
The faster she left, the safer she would be. Though she was well used to combat, her heart still pounded in her chest, sending blood flooding throughout her veins. There was no way to avoid the rush of adrenaline that came with battle, and nothing compared to the thrill. While she hated the reason she was there, her own bloodlust and desire for war, it did not affect the excitement she felt.  
Prior to her revival, combat and killing had brought disgust and no joy, only sorrow and hate. Now, she felt alive when she was in battle. It was her escape from the pains of her reality, her reality away from Thane and her banishment from his side. Though she did not fully understand nor realize it herself, when she was brought back, she was reprogrammed to be the perfect, ultimate warrior. She was deadly. More deadly than any other thing or person that had ever walked the earth. Nothing, not even an entire army could defeat her. Such power was never meant to be given to one person, but it was necessary. She was the peace. Her word was law. However she brought the peace, whatever method she felt right to use, that was the right way. She was the good and the evil. Those who defied her would be destroyed.  
In the distance, she heard the cries of a killing, and knew it had begun. The Yewflower commander was dead, killed in the negotiation, as she had presumed he would be. Immediately, the soldiers began their unorganized attack. They were going to their deaths, but not now. If it were not for her, they would be killed. After the first of the disorganized ranks passed her, she sprang forward. In all her might and strength, she charged towards the Raphsenfel ranks. Her footsteps made no sound, and she remained invisible in the dark, even now as she joined their battle.  
Mere steps before she was upon the ranks, she dove back into the brush. Tumbling once, she landed and moved to a crouch in one swift maneuver. Now she was in the perfect spot for shooting. Taking her bow from her back, she set an arrow to the string and lined up her first shot. The bowstring snapped forward and the arrow found its mark deep in the heart of her unsuspecting victim. She let several more shots fly, each as deadly as the last.  
Several minutes into the battle, Chalandra attracted the attention of a foot soldier.  
"Over here, there's an archer,” he called out, trying to get the attention of another soldier.  
Shaking her head in dismay, she moved down deeper in the brush. Slowly, he made his way towards her, sword drawn. The moment he jumped down into the ravine with her, she was upon him. Quickly, she slit his throat before darting off into the deep forest, away from the battle, but towards the back of the Raphsenfel ranks. She would flank them from behind, making quick works of their soldiers. They would never expect her, so she would have them off guard and surprised. It would be easy, child's play for such a deadly weapon.  
The moment the man came near, she was upon him with a sharp blow to the head. Instantly, he fell to her feet, unconscious and unmoving. For some reason, her hand was stayed as she looked at the still lump at her feet. The feeling only lasted a moment though, and she drove her knife deep into his flesh, killing him. From behind her, she heard the breath of a man. Turning around with her knife raised, her eyes searched for whatever made such a sound.  
Holding a hunting knife, but armed in no other manner, was a young man, no older than twenty, with dark hair that fell just past his shoulders. His face was pale and bore an expression that showed he was surprised to see a woman on the battlefield. Expecting an attack, she spun her knife between her fingers, ready to return his blows. To her surprise, he raised his hands, not in attack, but in surrender.  
"Please ma'am, don't knife me too! I don't want to die! I won't tell anyone you're here, honest,” he begged, pleading for his life.  
Looking about her for enemy soldiers, she sheathed her weapon.  
"Then what are you doing here? This is no place for a boy of your age with no thirst for blood,” she asked, her voice only slightly harsh.  
“I followed my father. He's a soldier, fighting. He insisted I come, to make a man out of me, though I do not love these men as he does,” he answered.  
“Where is your mother?"  
“She is dead, ma'am,” he replied, “Though I hardly think I am young enough to need a mother’s care.”  
“If you do not desire war, you should not have come. This is not the place for those who seek peace.”  
“I did not say I sought peace,” he corrected, “I only said I did not love these men.”  
“Then what do you seek?” she inquired, ushering him away from the battle’s edge.  
“To fulfil my birthright, which is not hunting down some mystical treasure that most likely does not exist.”  
“What do you consider to be your birthright?”  
“Surely you must know, if you are here on the battlefield. I doubt you are of the world of men if you so eagerly seek a battle with no apparent side. I have heard rumors of you, the woman who walks alone, journeying from town to town, who has already bested the several of the divides in wit and who fear her skill. The one who soon will have them at their knees, simply because you are more powerful and skilled than any other any man has ever seen. You are the reason I have come today,” he explained.  
Now that they were away from the raging skirmish, she stopped him, studying the boy in the moonlight.  
“How can I be the reason?”  
“You are of the same lineage as I, though I am not near as pure. There are few of us left, but I want to protect those who are. I want to train under you.”  
“You want to be my apprentice?” she asked, surprised, “You know nothing about me.”  
“I know enough to know that if there ever were a time to beg, it would be for this.”  
“You are a Dendä child then?”  
“Why else would a man who is not my father take me in?”  
“They thought you would have information?”  
“Naturally. Though I was born just before the Dendä were eradicated. They still believed I would hold information on their precious treasure, though I am only a half blood and a born in the world of men.”  
“So you wish for me to train you in how to be a warrior? When you are afraid to enter a battle?”  
“I am not afraid, I was waiting for you, hoping for you to come. I heard no one ever sees you, so I assumed you had to hide out on the outskirts,” he answered.  
“What about your human father. Will he not be looking for you?”  
“I suspect he will not be doing much of that, given that he’s dead.’  
“He’s dead?” Chalandra asked, confused.  
“You killed him not ten minutes prior.  
“I am sorry, I did not know,” she apologized, feeling the weight of her actions.  
“No need, he was never kind to me. He only wanted me for what he thought I could offer.”  
Taking a breath, she thought for a moment.  
“I suppose I could use the company, though I do not know how much use the wisdom I will try to impart will be. What is your name?"  
“Tarre, ma'am.”  
“Are you wounded?” she inquired, noticing him clutching his right side.  
“I may have taken a little cut, but it is nothing deep.”  
Chalandra's eyes smiled to him. She felt for the young man, a memory of a different world and a different time. There may have been more important matters, but he needed her.  
"I am sorry, but I do not have a place for you to stay the night. I live in the woods or sleep in inns, not any kind of a house,” she apologized as they walked.  
Soon, the man began to lag behind her, stumbling every few steps.  
"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned.  
“Yes, ma'am, I am,” he whimpered, gasping for breath.  
Immediately, she stopped and rushed back to his side. It was bleeding quite freely now, and a good deal of blood spilled out over his hands.  
“Do not lie to me. I can feel the lie, I can even see it. Even if I was ordinary, which I am not, I could tell you are lying,” she scolded, pointing to a tree stump near the overgrowth where she had settled for the night.  
As she sat on the stump, she opened her lantern which hung from one of the branches. Gently, she blew into the lantern, causing it to glow into light.  
“Thank you, ma'am, but you have more important things to do then to bother with me,” he protested.  
“No, not at all.,” she replied, taking a length of coarse cloth from within the overgrowth cave.  
Again, she was by his side, tending to his wounds. First, she washed it, as gently as she could. With a bowl of water in her hand and a strip of cloth in the other, she bathed his bleeding side, applying a great deal of pressure and stripping away his clothing as she went. Soon, she removed his shirt to better bind him. Once the wound was clean, she began to wrap the cut. It extended from the middle of his ribcage to just above his belly button. While it was not a terrible wound, it caused a great deal of pain. Never once did he cry out, but instead bore the pain with a dignity that few other adults would be able to muster. Tightly, to prevent blood from escaping, she wrapped him up. Soon, almost his entire chest was covered with bandage.  
"There you are then. See, you will be fine soon,” she assured him, the guilt of her crimes weighing on her heart.  
This was the destruction, the pain she caused but never was forced to see. Her hand was swift and unrelenting, yet she was never forced to see the hurt she caused. Instead, she was able to run. She ran to the next victim without ever looking back at the lives she could had destroyed. That was her curse.  
Once he was bound, she took a small wooden cup and filled it with water. Handing it to him, she smiled.  
"Here, drink some water,” she invited, her hands clasping around his for a moment as he took it, “Your wound will heal fine. The chances are you will scar but be proud of it. You got it in battle, it is your badge. When they reflect your past in an honorable way, they are beautiful. I once had scars, scars that would never heal but which I would carry with me to end of my days. They crossed over my back, there was no skin unmarked by labor, torture, and abuse. I was proud. It showed how hard I had fought to survive, and the battle that I had won. It showed my past. Likewise, I had several wounds from less honorable times, wounds from battle. Only remember this, scars are a burden. Often, they bring hardship with them, a mix of sorrow, pain, and joy. Sorrow, in your hard past, pain, from the wound itself, but joy in that you were able to overcome whatever obstacle stood in your way or threatened to hurt you.”  
Tarre smiled, his wispy black hair wrapping around his face as he looked at her with the eyes of one who had seen hardship, same as herself. There was great strength, great power behind those eyes. Virtues that would later prove to serve him well. They would become his most powerful weapons and his most trusted allies. His virtues would serve him when the time was right. But there was something more. Something deeper. Something that had drawn her to kill that man, something that would forever alter her fate and her destiny. Something dark, something lurking, something in their future. It did not drive her away, it drew her in. She knew there was something about him that had drawn them together. She did not shy away from it, she embraced it. It was necessary, and it did not scare her.


	10. Peacekeeping

“There is report of the Rasonphel and Bordea divides moving south. It would appear they plan to, or otherwise will, meet in battle within three night, my lady. Is there anything you wish to do to counter this?" Tarre asked as he walked through the inn's door, drenched from the thunderstorm outside  
“Bloodthirsty wretches! Why must they bring hell down upon each other? They know not their true enemy lurks in the dark and feeds on their war against humanity!" Chalandra exclaimed, angry by the divides' actions, "Too many years they have been warring. I have warned them, I have warned them all, yet they disregard my word. My work is to protect them, but I cannot protect them from themselves! All they want is this fanciful treasure, not caring about the world they live on. Do they not know what war against each other leads to?"  
“My lady, what action, if any, do you wish to take?" Tarre asked, trying to calm his mistress' nerves.  
“We will meet them in battle. Since they will not be reasoned with, we will give them the taste of iron and their own blood. There is nothing else to be done. It is better they should fall to ruin and their bodies lay in still sleep then they should corrupt the generation and the people I am charged to protect,” she replied.  
“We, my lady?" Tarre verified as usually, Chalandra went alone, "Am I to accompany you?"  
“Yes, yes Tarre, I believe you are ready, do you not?" she asked.  
“There is no greater honor than to stand by your side in battle. I believe the blessing that your training has been has well prepared me for war,” he replied.  
“Good,” she nodded, "We leave at daybreak, whether it be rain or sun. Be ready and get some sleep.”  
“Goodnight, my lady,” Tarre said, half bowing as he departed for his quarters within the inn.  
Now alone, Chalandra finished her meal and watched as the rain slowly trickled down the windowpane. Though she kept it from Tarre, as he would likely not understand, her heart pounded. Somewhere, she could feel Thane's call as she watched the thunderstorm. Had he known of her breath, had he known she was still alive, he would have torn heaven and earth apart looking for her. There was nothing that would stop him, nothing. Yet he still believed her dead but in his dreams. He could dream of her, in a beautiful and peaceful manner. Yet her dreams only ever showed his pain. The pain he suffered because of her absence. Slowly, matching the delicate raindrop that rolled down the glass, a tear trickled down her cheek. If only he knew she was alive. Yet, for his own good, he could not.  
Before dawn the following morning, haunted by dreams of Thane and his pain, Chalandra rose from her fitful sleep. The rain had cleared now, but the air was heavy with the moisture from the dew. It was cool, almost cold in her room. The bare wood floor was equally chilled beneath her feet, sending a brief, half-hearted shiver through her body. Sighing deeply, bringing the crisp air through her lungs, she prepared for the day ahead.  
From the wardrobe of the inn she retrieved the only item she had place in its care; her black cloak and garments. Casting aside her nightclothes, she pulled on the tight riding pants, followed by the black tank. Finally, she donned her long-sleeved black shirt, loose across her body, tight in the sleeves with leather bowstring guards. Sitting back down on her bed, causing a loud squeak to fill the otherwise silent room, she grabbed her boots. Slowly, she laced them up, making sure they were tight enough to survive the long ride she faced. Before leaving her room to meet up with Tarre, she grabbed her black cloak and veil, ready to conceal herself with the dark of night and the shadow of day. Momentarily, she turned back and retrieved her weapons, girting them tight to her body. Her array of knives she carried throughout her body, her sword at her side, and her bow and quiver on her back.  
As she walked down the hallway, her boots barely made a sound. If she cared to try, she could pass completely silent, but it did not matter if she made noise. Finding his room, she quietly knocked on his door, trying to prevent waking those around him. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, already dressed and ready to leave.  
"Good morning,” he greeted, his face as expressionless as ever.  
“Good morning Tarre,” she replied. "Are you hungry?"  
“That I am not. I would, however, be happy to sit with you as take a morning meal.”  
“No, I am fine. I do not have the stomach for food at the time being,” she answered honestly, "Come then, we have a long ride ahead.”  
Together, they left the inn, leaving the night's board on the counter as they went. Outside, Chalandra whistled for her horse. Her stallion greeted her with a hearty nicker, the tickle of his breath down the back of her neck letting her know when he arrived.  
Briefly, she greeted her stallion with a fond pat on the nose. Then, she quickly bridled him and swung onto his back. Tarre, upon finding his smaller horse, did likewise. Together, they turned to the place of their next battle. Chalandra, accustomed to leading, urged her stallion on and let him leap ahead of Tarre's horse, springing immediately into a gallop.

They rode all day. The rain subsided by midday, meaning they were drenched to the bone. When finally they neared the site that evening, their clothes had begun to dry. However, much to their surprise, the site of the presumed “battle” was nothing more than a deep ravine. The sloping walls, lush with grass, lead to a very narrow valley at the bottom, yet the entire site itself was less than a thousand feet across. For a first battle for her apprentice, this place would do quite well. She could simply post him up on the far side, laden with boulders, and she could do the knife work herself whilst he picked men off from above. This clearly was not to be a battle, but rather a skirmish.  
As they expected, the men came just after dark. It was clear that Tarre had been a bit misinformed, for the men were there for nothing other than a negotiation until one of the Rasonphel commanders knifed a Bordea soldier. She waited, she stayed her hand, permitting her young student to get a few shots in. But he made a grave mistake. He had stepped out too soon, forgetting that although they had the cover of night, he could be seen against the grey of the boulders. Having taken an arrow to the shoulder and a gash to his pride, she stepped in and finished off the men, leaving their lifeless bodies to stiffen and their blood to pour out upon the grass.  
She tended his wound and nursed his pride. Though she was never one to flatter a man nor comfort a person in hopes of restoring their ego, he had tried his hardest. He had only just taken up the Dendä craft after having studied it for years, so while she expected much, she did not expect perfection. That night, he had asked her of her death, and her past, for the first time. Her death, she had told him of, but her life, not yet. There was much he did not need to know of these last few years. Much she was not proud of, for though she would never admit to it, she already felt herself changing. She was not the same woman she once was.


	11. Isolation and Memory

In the following months, Tarre grew ever-wiser and more seasoned. He was a quick learner, whether it was demanded because of his teacher, or because it was natural gift, she did not know. They did well, and had established an alliance between Yewflower and Bordea, though the other divides remained obstinate in their ways. While time, they too would fall. Already, tales were told of the Dendä and the half-blood who travelled from place to place, cutting down all in their path. They had made quick work of the Grenyett men that night, which was enough for now. Peace would come, in time.  
Chalandra sat on the far side of the fire, simply watching the embers crackle. The orange light danced on her pale face, the only light to be seen for miles.  
"My lady, I do not mean to interrupt your thoughts, but I have a question,” he began.  
“Of course Tarre,” she said, smiling slightly and meeting his gaze.  
Her long golden hair was down on her shoulder, rather than pulled back. She wore a simple, loose blue dress, more comfortable then her usual riding clothes.  
“I do not mean to step out of my place, but you seem to be quiet tonight,” he answered.  
“My apologizes, I simply have found today a difficult day,” she replied, glancing away before meeting his gaze again.  
“If it is not inappropriate, why is that?" he asked.  
“I do not know. It is not a major day, for us, like our engagement, I just miss him,” she sighed.  
“You speak of Lord Thane?"  
“Naturally,” she smiled.  
After a pause and a sip of water, he continued. "Do you believe you need him in order to be complete?"  
“Whatever do you mean Tarre?" she chuckled.  
“Do you feel as though you need to be with a man, Thane, in your case, to feel as though your life truly has meaning. Or, at the very least, that your life is complete?" he repeated.  
“No, of course not, why would you say that?" she laughed.  
“I do not know, it is just that you seem to spend a lot of time thinking about him, and you do not seem as though you believe your life in complete since you are separated.”  
“Well, you never knew me before.,” she started, "Of course I think of him, constantly. I was going to marry him, Tarre. I loved him. I still do, but now I stand judgement for my crimes and have been sentenced to twenty years away from him. My mind is always going to wander back to him, I love him deeply. He protected me, cared for me, always made sure I was well. But no, I never believed that I needed him in order for my life to be complete. I want him in my life, desperately, I need him because I love him, but I do not need him to complete me. That is a job for myself alone. Any way that I falter, it is my own fault. It has nothing to do with his absence. He did help me to find myself, but he did not complete me. When I came out of that place, I was destroyed, I believed myself to be ruined. I thought I would never be whole again. He helped me to see there was still good in the world, and he helped me to forgive myself, but I did not need him to complete my life. Only I can do that.”  
“Then why would you feel as though you need him?" he pressed, so unsure of love, unable to comprehend how it felt, how it worked.  
“I do not need him, Tarre. I want him.”  
“Want him? But if you do not need him, why would you want him?"  
“You may be correct in assuming some women take a man for they need one for support. I know you find it quite the opposite in my case. You know full well that I do not need a man to support me, protect me, keep me safe. I do not need anyone for that. I am fully capable of that of my own accord. I understand, therefore, that you find it difficult to understand why I would desire bind myself to a man, as you have heard only the stories of those who needed a man for support.”  
“Women I know only speak of their husbands as a burden. Someone whom they are forced to keep a house for, cooking and cleaning without aid. Someone they are expected to serve, and to bear children by.”  
“That is where you are wrong, Tarre, for not every woman feels that way. You simply hear that because the ones who are mistreated, or at the very least, were forced to turn to a man for support or protection, are outspoken. Whilst those who care for their husbands, who love them, do not need to seek the support of other women, simply because they have the support of their husbands. You simply must understand that a husband may mistreat his wife, expect unfair things of her, but likewise a wife can be unfair to her husband. There is no one easy solution to any of it,” she attempted to explain.  
“Yet you desire to pledge yourself to this Thane? Why?"  
“Because I love him,” she answered, "I know well and full that I do not need a man to support me, to protect me, but I want to stand by his side. I care for him, and he cares for me. I want, more than anything, to be his companion and to remain by his side until the end of time. I know he would never mistreat me, expect anything of me. He is far too good a man, and far too gentle to ever become that kind of a husband. I love him. And I know you do not understand that yet, but I pray someday you may be able to. If you never fully understand any other emotion, I hope you understand this one. To know why I so desperately want to be by his side again, to feel the warmth of his arms. I pray you have that too, someday.”  
“I have made a vow to you, one that I intend to fulfill. That I will be the greatest apprentice that I can be, that I will fully and truly devote myself to my work. I cannot now, nor ever, love. For love is a weakness, one that I will not allow myself to have.”  
“You may believe that all you wish, but I hope that is not your fate,” she said earnestly, "I fear for you, that you might turn away love when it is given to you because you believe it is your duty. You have a duty, yes, as do I, but you must not let that change you. You cannot allow it to make you blind and unfeeling.”  
“Emotion, my lady, is a weakness I do not intend to force myself to have.”  
“Emotion is not always a weakness. It is sometimes the greatest strength you could ever process. You simply have to learn to control them. When you should feel, and how to channel it into strength.”  
“Perhaps, but that takes time and dedication, when what you need now is a warrior, not one who is struggling to learn how to control their emotions. I do not believe you should have to suppress your emotion, for you are the most powerful warrior to have ever walked this earth. Even lesser warriors may not need to hide their emotion. Yet they all share something in common. They have power, I do not. I am weaker than them. Because of that, I refuse to allow myself anything that may weaken me. I cannot afford to become any weaker. Maybe someday I will learn to control emotion to become a strength. However, so long as I live, I will not love. Love will most certainly cause me to falter. It is not a risk I can take, as I have pledged myself as your student.”  
Chalandra smiled a little, knowing such ideas were those taught by traditional Dendä. He had read their books to much, been exposed to too many of their theories. He meant well, yet she knew he would someday realize she was right. That love was a strength, not a weakness. Yet still, she feared one day his beliefs would lead him astray, as he may very well have rejected love when it was before him in order to fulfill a meaningless duty.


	12. The Captive

One Year  
When the bell finally sang out over the town, Thane threw his ax into the log. Without a word to those around him, he rubbed his blistered hands together and turned for the inn. He kept his head down. These days, wherever he went, he kept his head down. It was not out of fear of being recognized as a Dendä, nor because he felt inferior to those around him. It was the long, slow decay of time he was condemned to. If he dared to allow his mind to wander to the greatest of his pains, he saw the truth. That, if she, his beloved fiancée, had of indeed lived, time would have been nothing but his closest, dearest friend. For he could have lived out his days by her side. He could have spent an eternity with her, and the mere thought was beautiful.  
Yet he never let his mind wander to her any longer. It was too painful, too real. She was ripped away from him. He would never lay eyes her again, and likewise, he would never lay eyes on another woman who he deemed to be fair. Everything paled in comparison to her. There was no woman radiant enough, nor scene happy enough, to distract him from his sorrows. However, his pain was not to be confused with self-pity, for it was nearly the furthest thing from it. He did not pity himself, nor did he wallow in his misery. He did the very opposite. He did everything he could to forget her, yet there was no brew, nor magic, strong enough to banish her from his memory. So try as he might have, he even failed to force himself not to think about her.  
Shoulders slouched, as he carried the weight of his world upon them, he returned to the inn. Though he was greeted by the innkeeper's daughter, he failed to hear her cheery voice as he went straight to the tavern. As he approached the bar, the barmaid filled up a pint for him and set it on the counter. She knew he did not want conversation, but simply to attempt in vain to drown away his sorrows. Taking a deep breath, he took a large gulp of the vile-tasting drink and swallowed hard. Without having to say a word, the barmaid brought him a bowl of lukewarm lentil stew and set it before him.  
"Better eat something,” she encouraged, briefly leaning against the counter.  
When she found he was again did not want to talk, she sighed a little, then turned to the next customer, saying: "Let me know when you want another.”  
Three ales later, and not a scrap of food in his stomach, he pushed himself away from the counter and dragged himself down the hallway. Once his found his room, he pushed his key in the lock with shaking hands, hardly able to hold back his pain. Once inside, he locked the door and sealed himself in isolation.  
He lay on his back, simply staring up at the ceiling. He tried to focus on every breath as he slowly inhaled, then exhaled. Sometimes, he was able to dull the pain, if only for a moment. But it always returned. Every single time, it returned. The sharp, stabbing pain in his heart. The pain of knowing he would never see her again. It had been over a decade, but the pain was still as sharp, if not stronger, than it had been when she had first died.  
Trying to tear his mind away from the thought of her, he drew in another heavy breath. He had to force himself to stare. Stare at the ceiling as he did every single night, trying in vain to sleep. Sometimes, he was able to fight for a few hours of sleep, but mostly he just endured. Waiting for life’s sweet end to take him away.  
Finally, he closed his eyes with one of his breaths, hoping sleep would take him. Instead, he heard the sound of boots down the hallway. Again, his eyes opened. He heard a loud rap at the neighboring door, followed by muffled shouts. He shook his head, excusing it as some marital dispute, perhaps between an unfaithful spouse.  
Then came the pounds at the door. There was no mistaking the sound. They were going to break the door down if he did not answer instantly. But what did he care? He had nothing to lose. As the doorframe splintered, he did not even move for his knife, he merely lay back, his arms folded under his head, waiting.  
“Take anything you care to take. I have nothing,” he muttered, letting his eyes close again.  
“Are you Thane?” came a voice, harsh and demanding.  
“To whomever it matters, that is my name,” he answered, letting out a slight sigh.  
“Get up!” the voice demanded.  
Surprised, he opened his eyes. Over him stood half a dozen men, just to count the ones in his room. One of them stood at his bedside, brandishing a knife.  
Silent in disbelief, he sat up in bed, more startled than afraid. He leaned over the bed to pull on his boots, but had the knife shoved at his throat in response.  
“I said get up!”  
“Indeed you did,” he replied calmly though he looked up at the man with confusion, “I am merely trying to pull on my boots, nothing more.”  
The guard nodded, though jerked the knife rather close to his throat.  
“I do not I understand what you want? I have broken no law, that I am aware of, nor have I wronged anyone as far as I know.”  
“We need information,” the man answered, watching him closely as he jerked on his second boot, “Information only a Dendä would know.”  
“A Dendä? I am not a Dendä,” he lied, shaking his head as he rose shakily to his feet.  
“Do not lie to us, we know who you are. You may be able to pass as one of the men of this village, but I know your heritage. I know exactly what you truly are.”  
“Perhaps so, but what do you want with me? I am nothing, not anymore,” Thane answered, shrugging.  
“I am acting on orders. You are to come with me, as a prisoner,” he replied, pulling out a pair of shackles.  
Without resistance, Thane presented the man with his wrists.  
“As I said, I have nothing to lose. If you care to take me your prisoner, so be it. If you care to beat me, and kill me, so be it.”  
“We just need information,” The man repeated, cuffing his hands tightly.  
The jangle of the chains echoed through the bare room, sending a chill down Thane’s spine. That was the sound his Chalandra had heard every day of her life, until she freed herself from her former master. That was the sound she heard before her death. The sound of captivity. She had freed herself, one last time, before she was brutally slaughtered. Killed by one who did not understand beauty, and how rare it was when crushed so harshly. And now, he was a captive, just as she had been. Yet that did not matter. It did not matter to him whether he lived or died. It had not, not since she had died. He wanted to die by her side, drawing his last breath just as she drew hers. For this was the life he never wanted for himself, nor the life she would have never wanted for him. Still, this was his life now. He so desperately wanted to die, yet no one had yet been merciful enough to end him. Perhaps now, this would be the end. That would be the greatest mercy he could ever hope for.  
After he was shackled, the man jerked the chains connected them, taking a firm hold of them as one of the other men pushed him through the door.  
“Let’s go,” he barked, pulling him so abruptly that Thane stumbled through the door.  
“I offer no resistance, there is no need for harshness,” he muttered.  
He was not afraid of pain, yet he was wary of the situation. No matter what they said, they wanted something more than information. He had no more information to offer, not since all his people were dead and men ruled the earth.  
Still, they drug him through the doorway as a prisoner. He bowed his head and resigned himself to his fate, caring little what happened to him. They could torture him, beat him, starve him, keep him locked away from the light until the end of his days. It would be nothing compared to the agony he endured on a daily basis. The pure, untainted pain which resonated through his body every moment of every day. He was broken, he was destroyed. There was no light left for him in the world, no saving grace that might draw him up from this hell. He was done.  
Had he not promised the one thing which had brought light into his world he would not, he would have ended his misery so long ago. He would have stopped the endless pain and unending tears which fell from his weary eyes. No longer would he have to sob late into the night, instead he could simply close his drooping eyes forever and slip into an eternal slumber. If fate willing, he could ever be reunited with his woman. The woman he had so fervently intended to wed, yet had never been given the chance.  
But alas, he would not put an end to his suffering, not by his own hand. He had vowed to her, on her deathbed, as it was her last request. He would honor it to the bitter end, even through the bitter hardship he now suffered. Every night, nearly all throughout the night, tears found their way down his face. They carved their paths down his cheeks, leaving the burn of salt on his raw cheeks in their wake. Cheeks weathered by time and tide, scorched by the sun, and burned by winter’s freezing chill. When he finally believed the tears to have ceased, if only for the night, another thought of her would cause his vision to cloud. It always felt as though he would suffocate, smothered by his very grief. Yet he never did. Instead, the tears rolled down his face, finding their way through the ravines of time.  
Perhaps though, perhaps he would find his end now. These men, whomever they were, they might put an end to his life. They may be the ones to rip his spirit from his body, to set him free. If they were planning on sending him to the other side, on letting him wither away to nothing beneath their civilization, he would not protest. He would thank them, praise them, for letting him go. For being the ones to allow his lifeblood to drain from his body. For ever since she had gone, he waited patiently, though eagerly, for his demise. If it was at the hands of his new captors, he would welcome it with open arms.  
They led him away, dragging him by the wrists behind one of the leader’s horses. He bowed his head, allowing whatever fate may come to pass him by. He did not care, not any longer. He only desired to know what they wanted from him. Why they cared about him enough to tear down an inn’s door and scare half a dozen people. There was nothing special about him. None of the villages he went to even suspected him of being a Dendä until now. They simply assumed he was a man. His name, it was not common, but it was not considered a traditional Dendä name. It was less elegant, more blunt, without the usual flowing of their names. He always went by his real name, finding no reason to give a false one. It was dry, boring, and untraditional, just as he himself appeared. He never fit in, not in the world of men, not in the Dendä kingdoms. He had always been an outcast, a wanderer. He was now just as he always had been. So he drifted, town to town, unquestioned, searching for some sense of meaning.  
In years past, he believed he had found his purpose, his calling. He thought it was to be a warrior, to fight on the frontlines as his father had never been brave enough to do. It had satisfied him, for a time, until the death of his sister led him into sorrow. He did his best, to keep on that path. He was successful, in battle, being a strong leader who was unafraid to get his hands dirty and his brow sweaty. Yet after her death, the void reopened. He needed something more, desired to do better. So he threw himself into his work, taking up the enforcement of their laws. He tried to stop the slavery within his kingdoms, for he knew it was present, albeit hidden from sight. He did good, in that manner. He had stormed many a home; crashed many an auction. He had saved so many people, so many young Dendä women, from a violent and miserable fate. Unlike his regal counterparts, he was well aware of the reality those kidnapped maidens faced. They were sold into slavery, to half-bloods and men, even corrupt Dendä, and misused and mistreated the rest of their sorrowful lives. He had taken it up because of his sister. He knew that was likely her fate, as he had not seen her blood spilled before his eyes. If fate was merciful, she would have simply been killed. Yet he feared that was not her fate. Every time he raided the grimy den of a fallen half-blood, he prayed he would see her face. He prayed he would see her again. Yet he never did. Instead, he found himself drifting away, after nearly a thousand years of seeing such horrors of their captivity. He could bear it no longer. Not the misery of such people. His men, they did their best, but he could no longer take such horrors.  
So he went out and lived a simple life. He removed himself from the pain and the suffering. His father, he had begged him, pleaded, for him to come back to the kingdoms, to stop his “futile journey of madness,” But nothing stopped him. His father’s pleas fell on deaf ears, just as they had when he tried to convince him not to learn the art of war on the frontlines. Alya, he was a trained warrior himself, but he never served alongside his people. He knew the art of war from long training sessions with teachers, and from disciplined practice, but never in defense of his life, nor even from application in reality. Only in theory did he know how to fight, never in reality. Yet his son, he had received the same training and made something of himself. He had thrown away centuries of tradition of knowing the arts, but never practicing them, simply because he believed it was what was right. His father, he had tried so hard to convince him to stay, to learn the skills he would need to lead his people, but never did he listen. He simply cast off his words as though they were nothing. He did not regret his choices, though he regretted having disregarded his father’s desires, for now he would never see the man again. No matter how different they were, he knew his father always loved him. He never doubted that. Even in their worst of fights, he never for a moment, believed his father was disappointed in him. He knew, though he had to outwardly reject his son’s choices, he was proud of him.  
He knew his father cared, that he was incredibly proud that his son would defy the rules and traditions they held dear, and would carve his own way. That he was strong enough to stand up for himself and to decide his own fate, never allowing anyone or anything to stand in his way. Yet it had made his father’s job hard. For ever since he was a small child, people had mocked him. He never looked like the other Dendä. He failed to bear their statue, their grace, even their skin and hair color. He appeared as a man, even when he was just a child. Some people, many people, they laughed and said clearly Thane’s mother had an affair with a man, one which resulted in the birth of an ungainly, ugly half-blood like the one before them now. The one who was set to rule their kingdoms one day. It was all his father could do to keep a revolt under control. They were uneasy, rejecting any idea of a possible half-blood ruler. Yet Thane was not a half-blood. He was a full blood, for his mother had been loyal to her husband, and he bore the gift of water.  
Despite his father’s protests, his desperate pleas to keep his son at home, by his side, Thane left. He knew he was the last thing his father had of his wife. She had died, giving birth to his sister, though it was unusual for Dendä. Then, when his sister was killed, his father had lost his other tie to his wife. Thane, in turn, was the last thing he had as a reminder of his wife. Though he did not bear her image, he housed her spirit. His wife, she was always stubborn and headstrong, just as Thane was. She had always desired to fight on the frontlines, and never cared what people thought of her. While his son did not appear as his departed wife in body, he held her very soul. When she was alive, his father and mother had fought, not aggressively, but frequently, for she always had a mind of her own. One that she was never afraid to speak. She did not let her husband boss her around, nor lord himself over her simply because he was the king. And though they bickered, he knew they loved each other. Otherwise, his father would never have put up with her. In some way, he believed his father liked it when they fought, for it reminded him of his wife. She never once failed to speak her mind about whatever Alya was ruling on. She always told him off, and kept him grounded and aware of the plight of the common folk. For while he walked with his nose above his people, she walked by his side, humble and attune to their needs.  
And he pleaded, when Thane announced he was leaving for the towns of men. Being stubborn as he was, and tired of his father’s lordly ways, he left all the same. Although he regretted words spoken between them, for he had been harsh on his father when he left. He called him out on his pride. He was brutal with the truth, and did not hesitate to speak his mind that time. He said what he never had before. And he regretted saying it, now that his father was dead. But he did not, for even one moment, feel a pang of remorse over having left. That world was never for him. No matter what his father had tried to sculpt him into, he was not that man. He was not a ruler, he was not a king. He was an ordinary person, just as his mother had been. She was not some great lady of the realm, which had been betrothed to the king since her birth. She was a simple handmaiden to the woman Alya was pledged to marry from before his birth. Alya had met her, seeing her attend to his future wife. And he fell in love with her captivating beauty. She had been born of noble blood, but was the last child of seven, meaning she did not inherit status nor money. She took a job as a noblewoman’s handmaid, but she ended up marrying the king.  
She was ordinary. She had always been humble, and gentle, though she was stubborn. She never once considered herself greater than those around her. And she never would. Though she married a king, she never fully took the crown, nor the title. She was his companion, not his queen. Perhaps it was from her that he had found his humility and his normality. He never fit in, not since the day of his birth. Not there, at the very least. When he left the kingdom, and his honorary position of captain of the guard, he went to that town. And he took up humble work. He lived a normal life, one that a man, for a Dendä who was able to pass as a man, could live. He worked for his livelihood. He toiled alongside other men, and they never guessed his true identity. He was grateful, for once in his life, to have been accepted as normal. For his peers, they persecuted him for his appearance. But there, no one taunted him. He found rejection, but not of the same kind. He was normal, not lorded above others due to the luck of his birth. He was ordinary.  
Still, he was lonely. Ever since his sister’s death, he had found himself lacking for one thing. Companionship. He did not have a close friend in his life, he never had. His father, years ago, had tried to arrange a marriage. But he had rejected him for it. For if his father chose his own wife, despite society’s protests, he was going to as well.  
His father always said: “I do not regret being the first to have taken a wife of my choosing, but I am not going to allow you the same liberty. A king needs a queen. They need to find their wife long before they take the throne, and their wife must be of their father’s choosing, for he is the one who knows what match will satisfy his people.”  
He had said this to him twice, just before he left. That, more than anything else, was the reason he had left. His father was stripping away his chance at a rewarding life. For that was who he truly was, no matter how great his father tried to make him. He was a plain and simple man. One who wanted the honest support of a woman who cared about him, and who loved him, not one who was thrown at him for his birthright. His father and mother had shown him the importance of love, and he was never going to allow his heartsick father to take that away from him. So he went to try to find his own way. He did not intend to marry a human, for he would be stricken with grief at her passing. He meant to marry a Dendä, when the time came, but he meant to stay there just long enough for his father to understand he was going to choose his own wife, no matter his protests. He had never expected to find his wife there, in the lands of men.  
When he had first seen her, something clicked, deep inside him. There was something that felt right. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. But there was something more. Something deeper. He had never truly been attracted to someone before, though he had been surrounded by fair ladies of the court. They had simply never drawn his gaze like she had. He knew she was a Dendä, there was no denying that. He could tell from her manner of moving, of walking. She was graceful, light. For the first time in his life, he had felt so strongly drawn to her that he knew he had to meet her. He simply had to.  
He had heard tales from his elders, many a time when he was young, of their belief that some Dendä, those who met the person they were truly meant to be with, would feel a connection, even just upon sight. It may have been rare, or, perhaps, it was simply because many ignored it that they later failed to tell such a tale. But he felt that connection to her. That pull that there was something more than an ordinary woman hidden behind a veil, sleeping on the streets. She was humble, unlike the women of the court. She was working hard for her living. She was starving, and unwilling to take charity for she believed she was worthless. Devoid of all value. Yet he saw more in her. That humility, it reminded him of himself. Unlike himself, who rejected his world, she was rejected by the world. And he prayed he might be great enough to help her find what she was searching for. Yet he never dreamed the thing she searched for could have been him.  
Having seen the one and only other Dendä in the entirety of that tiny village, he knew he had to meet her. So he did. He offered her help when none was given. She was grateful to him for it. So grateful. And he managed to help her learn to trust. She had never known security in her life before. Not from anyone. She hardly ever knew a family. There was not a time in her life that she had been able to rely on someone. To trust in another person, especially not a man. Yet she grew to trust him. To believe he would bring her no harm. And he never would. For he cared for her. He had never loved a woman before, but he knew what love was. His parents had it, time and tide ago. He wished for the same life. And he had found it. He found a woman who he cared for, who was so strong, having endured many trials, and who was brave, more than the greatest of warriors. One who was stubborn enough to stand up even to him, but humble enough to admit when she was wrong. Despite all she had lived through, the only person she found at fault was herself. Never her captor. She blamed herself, hated herself, for she believed she was in the wrong, no matter the harm he had brought to her.  
For just a brief time, he was privileged enough to be a part of her life. But that was gone now. And he needed her now, more than she ever could have needed him. He was lost, broken and wandering. Now he was a prisoner, shackled and enslaved by the will of men. Subject to whatever fate they desired him to carry. Yet it no longer mattered. He had lived through enough hurt to see a thousand more years of misery. No one would come after him, no one would search for him. He was simply a Dendä, masquerading as a man, working in whatever menial jobs he could find in order to keep himself alive.

They led him out of the inn, and into the village square. Outside, the sky had turned to milky blue, spotted with the dusk haze which fell over the land. He bowed his head, just a touch, and offered his captors his hands. He had nothing to life for, nothing to fight for, so why make his life harder? Why make the duty of his captors harder? He would bring himself mercy, perhaps, by cooperating with them. If that was all that was given in exchange for his cooperation, then that was the reality. He did not care, not any longer.


	13. An Unknown Reality

The leader took his shackled hands and attached a chain to the chain of which connected the shackles. He gave it a firm tug, ensuring he was secure. Satisfied, he nodded, then raised a hand, obviously the command to mount their horses, and swung up on his own frothy bay gelding. He held fast to Thane’s chain, even as he gathered his reins. He was no fool; he was well versed in the skill. Once his men were aboard their horses, he thrust his right hand forward, the hand not holding Thane’s chain, and pressed his heels against his steed. The beaten, heaving horse took a moment, then stepped forward at its master’s request. Any spirit or will he once had was beaten out of him long ago, broken by years of use and misuse. Thane did not pity himself, he pitied the horse forced to bear the burden of such a master, one who did not understand the intricacies of such a beast. One that could become so great, so loyal, but instead was reduced to such drudgery. They had stripped away the very soul of that poor animal, taken away the thing that set it aside from any inanimate object. They broke its spirit, instead of having worked with its fire, they chose to douse it. Just as they had with an entire race of people.  
As the horse began to amble forwards, Thane stepped forward as well. He was not going to make the guards’ jobs harder. He had nothing against them. They were acting upon orders, they did not know whether he was guilt or not. They did not care. They had no say. They only did as they were told, very likely in order to make a living for their families. Still, some seemed to relish in the pain of others. Even if they took pride from his pain, his misery, he saw no reason to spite them. To hold anything against them. They were misled, and, perhaps, cruel, but he would not hate them for it.  
The people of the town had gathered around, watching with interest as the black-haired man bowed his head, led away by guards of the Rasonphel divide. Some whispered and pointed, laughing at him.  
“Look, we have found a rebel in your midst. A man who tried to hide his identity from you. Who looked to cause you harm. We saved you from him. He will be treated fairly in accordance with his crimes,” they announced, lying to the crowd in order to prevent an outcry, a panic, at the thought the Rasonphel would simply kidnap members of their families if they saw fit.  
Solemnly, Thane shook his head, just a little. The grey of his hair and the lines of his face were obvious in the fading light. Glancing down, his eyes fell on the glimmer of Chalandra’s ring, which he always wore around his neck. He found strength from it, whenever his strength did fail him. He took a deep breath, yet never a thought of ill will passed towards his captors of the village folk crossed his mind.  
“I wished no one ill. I did not intend to bring harm to anyone, though they have striped my life from me. I harbor no hate,” he muttered to himself.  
A young woman in the crowd saw him whispering something to himself, yet she did not step forward. Though some mocked him, many saw a certain gentleness in his face. A kindness, one that seemed to contradict Rasonphel said about him. He meant no harm. He was simply a refugee in a terrible war waged upon an entire people. One that brought about their end, and their demise.  
When finally the guards saw fit to leave the town, he raised his head a little. He had not wanted to meet the gaze of prying villagers. He wanted to be let be. For a time, they passed between paths carved amidst the pine trees. The night was quiet, with only the hoofbeats and snorts of the horses to break the silence, save for the occasional song of a cricket or the call of a night lark. The world hardly moved. Not even the wind dared to stir. It was simply silent, as though the world itself was tensed for some kind of consequence for the capture of him. Though he never viewed himself highly enough to have such a thought occur to him.  
After nearly three hours, by tell of the moon, had passed, a great stone wall came into view. It was carefully built of interlocking stone blocks, designed to keep enemies out, of about ten feet in height. They veered around the backside, travelling alongside it for a brief spell. When they came upon a wooden gate, crisscrossed with iron bars to reinforce the wood, they passed through with only a nod to the gate guards. The path here was well worn, from travelers coming and going multiple times every hour. This place was well travelled, that much he could tell. Inside the compound, there were several buildings. The main building was constructed of interlocking stone, obviously built as a failsafe in the event of combat. The height of it only rose several feet above the wall, though he suspected, correctly so, that it dug into the earth beneath it. To the right, there were a dozen or so small wooden houses, which he assumed were the barracks for whatever army they were attempting to raise here. To the left was the horse stables; there were three large wooden buildings.  
Now they were inside the compound, the guards swung off their horses and passed them away to the nearest grooms. There was not so much as a pat or a word of praise for their mounts, just the inattentive, careless pass off. The leader of the guards, who still held the chains attached to Thane’s hands, gave his leash a swift jerk, causing him to stumble forwards.  
“Pay attention, pig,” he barked, much to the glee of the other guards.  
Thane took a deep breath, yet uttered no reply. He was distracted by the world inside the compound, not the buildings themselves, but the demeanor in which those still out approached with. They milled about, lazy and unorganized. Many of them were clearly under the influence of alcohol, and many others seemed to have fallen slave to lust. They pursued whatever woman happened to pass their way, and seemed to consume copious amounts of liquor while doing so. The women seemed not to care, but only seemed to care what hand offered them money. In three locations around the barracks, there were small bonfires, over which some form of animal roasted on a spite, their grease dripping down into the glowing fire. The noise, the clamor of the crackle of the fire, mixed with the cackle of women and men, and the drunken jeers coming from around the fire. The occasional nicker of a horse from the stables, and the snarls of dogs as they fought over a bone. The smell, the roasting of animal flesh and the smoke of the fire. The smoke of the pipe, the sweat of men and beasts. It nearly overwhelmed him, but most of all, he smelled the stench of liquor. He had been overcome by it from the very moment he passed through the gates. In small amounts, he had nothing against it. But like this, it turned the best of men into vile beasts. It changed them. He was guilty of drinking, and drinking heavily at that. Yet he never drank more than he could handle. He only drank what he needed to make some desperate attempt to drown out the pain. But like this. Men were turned to dogs.  
“My apologizes,” he muttered, “I was merely distracted.”  
“Why do you think I said pay attention?” the man barked again in reply, then jerked the chain again. This time, it was hard enough to cause him to fall forward, landing hard on his knees and hands.  
“Get up,” he ordered, spitting by Thane’s hands.  
Without a word, he rose to his feet, doing his best to brush the dirt from his palms and knees. He sighed deeply, then stepped forwards as he the leader began to walk towards the wooden and iron doorway leading into the main building. Immediately after entering, a tall, blonde man with a greasy beard approached him.  
“Yatel, sir,” the leader greeted, obviously pleased with his success.  
“Are you sure this is him?” the blonde man asked, furrowing his bushy brows.  
“I am certain.”  
“Then why are you wasting time, get him down below immediately! We must start interrogating him!” Yatel instructed, waving off his guard.  
The man holding Thane’s chain nodded, then started towards the stairs to the right. Yatel followed behind them, grinning broadly. As before, Thane gave no sign of resistance, but simply followed along behind the man who held his chain, making the former warrior no greater than a beaten slave. He began to descend the stairs, which were lit by nothing more than a candle every few feet. It was gloomy, and after just a few steps, he felt a rush of cold, damp air pass over him. They were taking him belowground, away from the light.  
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the man pulled Thane to the left, then passed half a dozen doors with him. Finally, he stopped in front of the eighth door on the left.  
“Take a good look. This is the last you will see of anything outside this room for a while,” he man laughed, causing Yatel behind him to chuckle.  
“That does not matter to me any longer. I believe I am right to assume I am going to die in there?”  
“Maybe eventually, but not right away,” Yatel answered, rather threateningly.  
“I see,” was all Thane answered with.  
Away from the light, trapped in darkness, slaved to an unwanted, and presumably cruel master. So he was to end the way Chalandra had begun? He was to live the end of his life the way she had lived the start of hers? He could do nothing but feel honored he would experience the same pain she had, or at least a form of it. Maybe someday he would understand what she endured.  
“May I ask what you intend to do with me then?”  
“Archer, make sure he’s secure. I don’t want such an important find getting away,” Yatel commanded, as the man threw open the door with a dull clang.  
The door was built much the same as the front gate, some kind of dark, thick wood reinforced with iron bars. There was no small window, as many a cell may have had. It was simply a solid door, one that would become his prison. Smiling maniacally, Archer led Thane through the doorway, and into the dank, dark room. There was little light, save for that which flooded in from the dimly lit hallway. However, even in the dark, he could see it was a small room, around the size of a large horse stall, with fairly tall ceilings. In the center of the room, hung from the tops of the walls, run along down the walls, then bolted to the floor, were two shackles, obviously for his wrists, as they hung above where the head would come to on an average man. Archer pulled the keys to Thane’s shackles out of his pocket, then unlocked the ones he had been transported in. Yatel stood in the doorway, looming, but obviously pleased with his minion’s handiwork. Archer threw the shackles aside, then lifted one of Thane’s rough hands up to the shackle. He clamped it down roughly around the man’s large wrists. Then the other.  
As he stood, his hands hoisted above his head, he said nothing. Once Archer had finished, he smiled, and chuckled a little as he stepped a little closer to Thane’s face, his reeking breath seeming to consume all the air around him.  
“Get used to it,” he sneered.  
As he turned to leave, he saw the glimmer of Chalandra’s ring, around the captive’s neck, in the dim light.  
“What’s this?” he asked, moving aside the corners of Thane’s shirt and taking hold of the ring, “This looks like it has some value. I’m certain I could sell it for something.”  
“Please, no. Take anything from me, just not that,” he answered, praying he would leave her ring be.  
“Why should I? I could likely give it to my wife to appease her anger. An apology gift, of sorts.”  
“An apology for what?” Thane asked, straining against his bonds for the first time.  
The only thing he refused to give up was her ring. It meant far too much to him.  
“That’s none of your business.”  
“And why you cannot take it from me is none of yours. Please, do not take the only thing that has any value left to me and give it to your sorry wife as an apology for having an affair with some slut. You have no idea what it means to me, and you never could,” he spat, though there was desperation in his voice.  
“You dare beg for me to spare your precious necklace, yet you insult me in the same breath?” Archer challenged, furrowing his brow.  
“Say whatever you wish in response, I simply say what I see,” Thane returned.  
“Now you dare to judge me? You believe I cheated on my wife with some hapless, lifeless, soulless slut?”  
“I do, with every part of my being,” Thane mocked in return.  
“You should never assume you know what I am, pig. Do you want to know why I need an apology to my wife? It’s not for cheating on her. No, I haven’t done that, nor would I. My wife may not be a beautiful woman, but I made vows to her. I know half the men in my barracks are not faithful to their women, but I am. I believe that lets me hold myself to a higher standard than them. I never want to be the same as the others. They have no morality left. They drink their lives away. Gamble their earnings away rather then send money back to their families. Or, worse, the spend their earnings on other women, whilst their women at home barely have enough bread to feed their starving children. No, I am guilty of drinking more than my share, and gambling my money away in hopes of making more, but not the last. My friends may well be guilty of adultery, but not I, as of yet. I have not lain with another woman since I married my wife, nor do I intend to. She is not a pleasant woman, she swears at me, and harasses me. She always nags about what I do and don’t do. I am not always a good man, so it is justified. She has accused me of cheating before too, but I haven’t done that yet. Nor will I. She’s not beautiful, nor was she in her youth. No fortune nor status, nor family name. She had nothing to offer, but I took her in all the same. I don’t regret it either, cause I know she’ll be faithful to me. So even when she swears at me, I know there’s a good woman, a better woman than I likely deserve, beneath. Any woman who is willing to put up with me is a better one than I could hope for. So I return the favor, and stay faithful to her. She’s been through a lot, so I can give her nagging a pass. Besides, she puts up with me to boot. But you want to know what I did to make her angry?”  
“What?” Thane spat, angry that the man had proven him wrong.  
He had nothing against him, he simply did not like it when he was considered wrong or lacking in intelligence by his captors. He did not like the man before him, for no matter what he said, he did not fully believe that he had never cheated on his wife.  
“I failed to bring home the milk,” Archer answered, a smile crossing his face.  
When Thane’s face remained unchanged, he tilted his head and his smile faded.  
“You do not believe me?” he asked, seeming to be offended by his victim’s perception.  
“I do not.”  
“I take that as rather an insult.”  
“Take it any way you prefer,” Thane sighed in response, having no strength left to argue with the man.  
“My counterparts, they think I cheat on her, but I do not. I do not care what they think, for they know themselves to be lowly. To be cheats and thieves. They do not care what I do, nor do they think any less of me if I were to cheat on her. But you? You judge me by my actions, or the actions you believe I committed, though you believe this wrongly. You see yourself as greater, you believe yourself to be better than us, simply because you were raised in a world where you didn’t have to cheat and steal and lie. You know though? That world is dead. You have to cheat and steal and lie out here in order to survive. That’s just fact.”  
“No, you do not.”  
“See, there you go again, lording yourself over us, Saying you are greater, that you can live your life as an honest man. You see yourself as greater than you are, and you throw our wrongs in our faces, simply because you believe you have the right to.”  
“No, I have never believed myself to be greater than any of you. I simply know anyone can make an honest living doing honest work, if they try. If they are willing to work hard, they can make it work.”  
“You were raised as a lord among your people, were you not? You have never known what hard work is like. You were given everything. Even now that your people are dead, you have enough resources hidden away that you can squander them at your leisure. My people do not have that luxury. We were raised under your oppression. We know what hard work is, and what it does to you. It makes your hard.”  
“Only if you let it. I have never taken anything from my people. Not when they were alive, not now that they are dead. I have worked for everything I have, even before their demise. My people are dead. You claim I have inherited their riches, yet you are wrong. I have taken nothing. You claim I have riches. I have nothing. My entire people are gone. The woman I loved is gone. She was the one who owned the ring you are threatening to take from me.”  
“What happened to her?” he asked, calmly, though at least in some form interested.  
“She died.”  
“I am sorry then, for your loss. You seem to have cared about her.”  
He took a deep breath, and lowered his head so that it fell beneath Archer’s, purposely avoiding his eye contact.  
“I cared for her very deeply,” he answered, barely able to hold his emotions together, “But why does this matter to you?”  
“Unlike many of my counterparts, I like to believe I am more than simply a brute. I may be trying to get information from you, or otherwise use you in some manner, but I have emotions, and I care,” he responded, “I will not be to the one assigned to you. I was sent to capture you, but I will not be seeing you any longer. I suppose I like to get to know the men I take in. Not for bragging rights, you understand. I like to know people’s stories.”  
“I’m afraid my story is very much lost in time. No one should care to hear it.”  
“Perhaps not, but perhaps that is the way it is with everyone, in the end. But right now, I am asking you. We may not make any impact on the world before we leave it, but obviously a certain person made their impact on you. How did she die?”  
“She was killed, by a man whose name I do not know, but who was one of your people. She was brave, though she had been mistreated in every sense of the word for thousands and thousands of years. She was a skittish thing, when I met her. But she grew to trust me, in time. For that I am ever grateful. When we were captured, she suggested we escape. She went to get the horses, from the stable. I gathered our weapons and made sure those in the main house stayed asleep. They started to wake, just as I was leaving. I ran outside, and she ran towards the woods with me. When we reached the edge of the woods, she collapsed. She had been stabbed. I still do not know who did it, or I would have sought revenge by now. But she is dead.”  
“I am sorry, again, for your loss. I understand you have endured heartbreak on account of her loss. It is amazing though, that you still live a quiet life among the people that killed her. Did you not seek revenge?”  
“Where else would I go and what other people could I dwell among? There is no other place I can go. As for revenge. I was weak, just after it happened. So deep in shock I could hardly breath. I went back, not a week later, and found every one of the men dead.”  
“What do you believe happened?” he inquired, taking one step back, “You believe they held someone else of your people captive and they took more than they could handle? That they were killed by your people, out of revenge for some other deed?”  
“The few of my people who are left are in hiding. They are trying to not be discovered, so I would doubt it. As far as I know, they are not trying to draw attention to themselves by seeking revenge, no matter how just.”  
“Then what do you believe happened?” he repeated.  
“I do not know. I have found no explanation for it yet.”  
“Were you angry that someone came between you and your revenge?”  
“At first, I was. But I later came to be grateful that someone had beat me to it. That is not what she would have wanted for me. To see me killing on account of her death. She was far to peaceful a woman.”  
“You are a very forgiving man.”  
“It may appear that way, but I assure you, I am not.”  
“If you don’t mind me asking, what was her name? This woman who seems to have turned you into such a level-headed man?”  
“There is nothing no power left in her name, save for the pain it brings to me,” he answered, “Chalandra. Her name was Chalandra.”  
Immediately, Archer turned towards Yatel, who loomed in the doorway.  
“We got him,” he said with a malicious grin, looking back to Thane, “It’s him.”  
“So it is,” answered the yellow-bearded man.  
“I told you I could do it,” he chuckled, “I told you I would get the right one.”  
“So you did. Well done,” he commended, nodding.  
With that, they passed through the doorway and slammed the door behind them. Thane bowed his head, sighing deeply. Though he doubted he had any information they would want, he had obviously said something they needed to know.  
There were hardly any of his people left, yet he still had a responsibility to protect those who were left. He had been careful with his words, yet he had clearly betrayed his people in some manner. They had turned away when he confirmed he was Chalandra’s fiancé, yet that would have hardly mattered to them. At least it should not have, as she was dead nearly twenty years now. Why should they care he once knew her? She was dead and gone. Furthermore, there was hardly any reason for anyone to care what Chalandra had done in her lifetime. Other than to him, she had no significance among their people, aside from the fact she was disgraced and engaged to marry a noble. He knew there was more to her story, but he had not shared that with anyone. She was not some disgraced former slave as she appeared, that much he knew. But still, he had not shared that with anyone outside his father, who had have taken that secret to his grave, and very likely did. There was no reason for them to care he had known her, been that close to her, yet they seemed to want him simply because of his connection to her.  
Several hours past, in the dark, confining cell. His strong arms had long since lost feeling, but he did not care. He wished simply that he had kept his mouth shut. It had always been so difficult for him not to talk about her, painful as it may be. It hurt, it stung, to think of her. Yet there was so much he desired to tell others about her. About how great she had been, how great she could have become. Yet he had gone too far. Whatever he had said, whether it was about her or not, he had given them something they needed, though he knew not what it was.  
Though there was only a small crevice of light which trickled in from underneath the doorway, his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He was able to see the faint outline of various stones which made up the walls of his cell. He could tell where the chains were connected, with heavy steal, to the floor. Occasionally, he would hear the scurry of rats’ feet as they darted across the floor, or see the quick flash of movement as they ran by. Every once in a while, he would shift, though it was difficult to move about with the restraint of the chains. They provided him with very little movement, rendering him almost motionless. When he moved or shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the rattle of the chains would fill the moldy, musky cell.  
From the crescent of yellow light coming from under the door, he could tell when a guard was passing by, as he could see the shifting of the light, as well as hear the dull thuds of their boots outside. But worst of all, he could hear the screams of men in adjoining cells. He could hear the shouts of the guards, their demands for information. He could hear their pleas for mercy, followed by the crack of a whip or the thud of a punch landing on flesh. Either way, he could hear their screams. The sound of men wailing in pain, begging for forgiveness. Every one of them said they knew nothing. Perhaps they lied, perhaps not. Either way, they were not given mercy. Though he knew it was in his head, he felt as though he could smell their sweat. He believed the scent of their blood was in the air, blinding his senses. In reality, he realized he was simply afraid he was next. He had endured much pain before, but he saw no reason to now. He had no people to protect, no woman to whom he pledged his love. There was no one to give up, nor anyone to hurt by spilling his truth. Yet he knew he still could not say anything.  
After what seemed an eternity, he heard the dull step of a guard outside his cell, followed by the jangle of the lock as the man fumbled with his keys. The door swung opened, nearly blinding him with the soft light of the hallway. He squinted and pulled his head back a little from the shock. Though his eyes were not yet adjusted to the lighting, he could tell it was Archer, with Yatel standing behind him, just as they previously had been. Archer approached him, turning his head to the side in an attempt to meet Thane’s gaze, which was currently fixed on the dirt floor.  
“You were terribly helpful, earlier, you know that?”  
“I did not intend to be, though I should have seen clear through your trickery. However, I can assure you that will not happened again. However, I am unsure what information you were after earlier. You seemed to care about Chalandra, but she is long dead and gone. Information about her would not help you with anything.”  
“Perhaps you are wrong, perhaps you are right, I am not going to inform you either way.”  
“Come on now, just as friends?” he mocked, meeting his gaze for the first time.  
Even in the low light, he saw darkness behind his eyes. He did not trust this man, there was something vile at play. He did not know what, but he felt it. He could feel the danger. Not malice, not that dark, but something else was at play. He was trying for something from him, but he still could not figure out what.  
“You and I both know we are not friends now. I am surprised that worked on you once, as I am going to be your keeper, no matter what lies I fed you earlier. Now, no matter what you play at, I want you simply to know this: I am the one who plays games here, who asks questions here. You are not, nor ever will be. You are my plaything, not the other way around. Understood?”  
“I suppose we will simply have to see. Now that I am better informed, no one will get a word from me, at least of useful information. I know your tricks, your games. I know you will torture me without mercy. Yet pain of death will not cause me second thought. I do not fear either, so bring me your worst.”  
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Uncomfortable? Any of these can be fixed with a simple word.”  
“And what word is that?”  
“The name of your father,” Archer replied.  
“For what? How about water?”  
“I knew you were a reasonable man!” he laughed, “I see nothing wrong with this. For your father’s name, I will give you drink.”  
“I desire water, not whatever vile drink you have been consuming,” Thane verified, smelling brew on his breath.  
“I understand.”  
“George. His name was George,” he answered.  
“You think you can fool me with that lie?” he laughed.  
With that, he grabbed Thane’s throat, threatening him. In response, Thane spat in his eye. Shocked, Archer stumbled back.  
“You are a brave man, aren’t you? I suppose I will simply have to teach you for insulting me!” he scoffed, wiping is face.  
Immediately, Archer raised his right hand and slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. Thane’s head was forced to the side with the impact, but the sting of the blow did not cause him to so much as shudder. Thane returned his gaze to Archer’s, as though daring him to repeat the same action. Again, Archer struck him across the face, yet once again he did not so much as flinch.  
“You can do whatever you wish to me, but I will never tell you anything more than I have,” he muttered under his breath.  
“We shall see about that,” Archer returned, “Soon you will see, I am a fair man. I will trade you for information, no matter how small. Your life will be far more pleasant if you cooperate. If you do not, it will be unbearably unpleasant, even for a man such as yourself who has clearly endured hardship in the past. I will be certain to be additionally hard on you.”  
“There is nothing you can do to me that will even come close to the pain I already bear. I suffer more every day than you could inflict upon me in a lifetime. And you will never use that pain against me. Never.”  
“But that information, the information you carry, it will soon start to seem as irrelevant as it is. You will come to realize there is nothing left to protect, so you might as well protect yourself.”  
“I have seldom, though not never, been a self-serving man. I certainly do not intend to now. May I ask, if the information I carry is so irrelevant, why do you care?” he inquired, calmly, as though he was still a diplomat.  
“Irrelevant to you and your people, vital to mine,” he replied.  
Yet Thane shook his head. There was nothing he carried that could bear any relevance to any man’s people, but there was something more. This was about control. He wanted to lord himself over him. The Dendä had fallen, but he still felt the need to pull his head above the remaining Dendä. He had to lift himself up, if only to provide himself with gratification. It was about power. It was always about power. Power over the Dendä, and that was why they turned on their very protectors. For they believed power was worth any cost, even the destruction of an entire people.  
“That does not matter to me. I will remain silent all the same.”  
“Perhaps now. But just wait,” Archer answered, smiling deviously.  
He turned, and returned to Yatel’s side, who was still blocking much of the light from the doorway. He paused briefly, then returned to Thane’s side with a flailed whip.  
“Just you wait,” he repeated, brandishing the whip above his head.


	14. Mountain Passings

Chalandra woke with a start, continually haunted by dreams of the past. Almost every night, she dreamed of her death. It was not out of self-pity, she believed, but it had been one of the most traumatic events of her life. It was not the pain, she had endured far worse. It was the fact it had led her to be parted with Thane. Had that man not stabbed her, that sorry guard who no longer breathed, she would still be with him. She would likely be lying by Thane’s side now, married. She could have lived a simple life as his loyal wife. They could not have had children, but they would have been happy. Living in the villages of men, it would have been easy for him. She was passably a woman of their people, though obviously held more beauty than most of their people. Still, with him as her protector, she would have been safe. They could have lived out their lives in such peace, such content. Yet instead, she was torn from the earth and forced to walk a trail of sorrows.  
Yet she always forgot, even before she died, Thane had taken steps to allow her to become who she was meant to be. She had started to feel the effects of her true powers. In time, she would have been led down the same path. The path to restore peace. Yet even if that was where she eventually ended up, she would have had Thane by her side. To guide her, to protect her, to give her strength when she failed and faltered. He would have known better than she. He understood more, had seen more. He would have been able to become her guiding light in this dark and brutal reality she faced. But he was not there. She was being punished. She was alone, save for a slumbering young man, hardly more than a child. One who desired to learn whatever she could teach, even when she had nothing to teach, for she was even more lost than he. She did know how to fight, how to shed blood, but her knowledge ended there. Still, he relied on her, believed she would impart knowledge greater than any other upon him. She would try her best, for this child had meaning to her. He was not some sorry lad, left behind by his father. He was not some ordinary child. There was more between them. Fate seemed to have brought them together. There was a reason they had been brought together. She had to protect him, she knew that much. She would do whatever she could, she would do her best to teach him, but even more, to keep him safe from all the dangers of the world.  
Tarre lay opposite the long-dead fire, still slumbering peacefully. Without a word, Chalandra stood, leaving her sleeping roll behind, still open. The sun had not yet risen, nor did the rays of light yet peak over the hilltops. The world had turned to dawn, though the sun had not yet shown its face. Instead, the sky had turned to lighter blue, instead of the inky black it became during the nighttime. In the dim, though growing, light, she could see drifting bugs, floating on the slight breeze which swept over the land.  
When she stood, she felt the warm breath of her horse on the back of her neck, causing her body to shudder slightly as the warmth crawled down her spine. She smiled, then turn to pet her gentle giant’s nose. Greyfer stood quietly, though bobbed his head a little as she stroked his face. From her knapsack, she grabbed only his bridle. Tossing the reins over his head, she pushed the bit into his mouth, which he accepted eagerly. Slipping the crownpeice over his ears, she fasted the throatlatch on the nosebandless bridle. Because of his height, she had to lead him beside a rock in order to climb aboard his back bareback. He stood quietly, and allowed her to position herself comfortably on his back.  
With a gentle squeeze of her legs, he sprung forward into an easy trot, needing very little encouragement so early in the mornings. He was a full blooded warhorse, bred and trained to carry his master day and night if necessary. He was broad-backed, with a long, but easy and gentle stride. He was large for the Dendä horses, but no less willing, fierce, or loyal. He would do anything Chalandra bid him, she only needed to request him to. And he was strong. He had been ridden nearly the entire day yesterday, breaks few and far between, yet still woke with extraordinary energy. He now carried his ride at a brisk trot, listening carefully to her every word and cue. Though Chalandra missed her little mare, Avaleth, Greyfer was a kind and willing steed, who would do anything for her just as her mare had. He was more kind, more gentle, though. Avaleth had more fire, and would not stand for any mistreatment from any of the stablehands. Greyfer on the other hand, was quiet and would not protest if some inexperienced rider climbed aboard, at his mistress’s bidding of course.  
Even though she spent many hours in the saddle out of necessity, she still enjoyed riding when it was not required. There was joy to be found in a morning ride, finding some kind of uneasy solace in the uneasy world. Still, out here, with nothing but mountains around, it was quiet. It was still. She had not found anyplace so still in a long time. It was refreshing, and it helped to clear her head, though her thoughts still fixed forever on Thane. No matter how hard she tried, whenever her mind was not focused on the task at hand, she returned to him. Perhaps that was why she loved war so much, it distracted her.  
It had become the only thing that cleared her mind, that forced her to be focused on the present, and solely the present. Everything else, it allowed her mind to wander, to return to her self-inflicted misery. Her lonely, despairing self. Nothing else forced her mind off of him. Off of her failures, her shortcomings. She knew, if he knew, he would rebuke her, and rightly so. She had done evil, yet she did not care. That was what worried her. She felt no remorse in her actions. They were justified, in her eyes. She had acted justly and fairly in response to the world of men. And she felt no regret for bringing down her shift justice upon them, nor would she be made to by some sniveling, sorry human who wished to judge her.  
But war. The emptiness in her heart and turned to a thirst for blood. The craving of war. The desire to hold someone’s life in her hands and make the final choice, whether they would live or die. Usually, it was the last choice anyone would ever make revolving around that person. For she usually left them bloodied and dead. It was so rare that she showed mercy, for it was in the taking of another’s life that she was able to see clearly. To feel something other than pain. And it was power she felt now. The power to decide whether they lived or died. That was why she hunted war, why she chased after it like a prize. Because it finally allowed her to see more clearly, and to feel something other than loneliness. Though later, she might feel regret for showing no mercy, it was well worth the risk.  
After allowing Greyfer to stretch his legs a little, she turned him towards a narrow path, just large enough for her gelding, which twisted along the side of the mountain. He bowed his head, preparing for the rather steep climb ahead. As they started up the pathway, he arched his neck. She could hear the clip of his hooves on the stone and loose gravel below her, but she felt no fear. Fear was not an emotion she experienced any longer, and she was glad to be rid of it. Greyfer picked his path up the mountainside carefully, being loyal to his rider and not wishing to put her in any danger. His long strides quickly ate the ground beneath him, despite the steep ascent. They moved back and forth up the mountainside. A few more long strides later, and he reached an overlook. It allowed clear view to the rest of the small valley below, though there was hardly anything not visible from the ground. It was a simple cradle between peaks, but it had provided them with protection for the night.  
The overlook sat on the side of the mountain, carved away by years of erosion. Greyfer halted, responding to her smallest commands. He stood still, though his head bobbed a little. Chalandra slid off of her steed, leaving the reins looped over his neck. She trusted him not to wander, but to wait for her. She took a few steps forward, moving closer to the edge of the overlook. She was barefoot, but the rocks and rough terrain did not bother her. She embraced it. She let her toes touch the edge of the cliff face before she stopped. Lifting her chin, just a little, she let her gaze rise to the morning sky, still untainted by the sun’s rays. Her hands stayed still by her side, unmoving save for the occasional quiver of one of her fingers. Greyfer paused all movement, standing as still as a statue as his mistress reflected on her thoughts.  
She was a cruel woman. She knew that now. She had brought pain and death and suffering in her wake. Yet she cared not. Nor would she. She would not repent for her misdeeds. She would continue her ways. It was the earth’s punishment, man’s punishment, for their misdeeds. She would not regret, nor did she regret. Yet now, she felt a slight pang, a tiny quiver, of remorse. The world, it was so still, so calm, yet she was a wrathful storm. She would not fully become victim to her remorse, she would not let it stay her hand, but she would not deny what she had done. It was wrong, yet it felt right, just.  
Thane, though. If Thane were there, or if she ever saw him again, he would rebuke her. He would reprimand her. And he would be right. He had never pointed out her misdeeds to her before, for she had always admitted to her shortcomings. She had taken her shortcomings farther than was necessary, actually. But now, something had changed within her. She did not feel sorry for her actions. She believed they were justified. She was right, and she believed she had the right to act the way she did. That was harder. For she desperately wanted to be by his side again, the side of the man, the only one who she would ever allow to, loved her. But she knew he would likely send her away. That he would cast her aside for having become this wrathful monster instead of the gentle soul he once knew. Something had changed with her, she was not blind to that. She felt it growing inside her, some evil, rotting thing. But she let it fester. He would have torn open the wound, killed the poison, but she liked it there. She liked to let it stew. She allowed it to have more power, and he would scold her for it like an oblivious child. But he would be right. That was what she was afraid of. For she had fallen so far victim to her darkness that she did not want to be shown the light. That is always the problem with moral dilemmas, no one wants to be shown they are wrong, and no one wants to admit they are wrong to themselves.

Slowly, Tarre woke. He closed his eyes tighter, then finally forced himself to open them. Seeing Chalandra was not in her bedroll opposite the fire, he sat up, afraid something could be array. All effects of sleep were suddenly gone, swept away with the panic of seeing his mistress absent. He looked around him, desperate for some sign of where she could have gone. It was then he noticed Greyfer was gone as well. She would not have left him behind, so she had obviously left of her own accord, but would be back shortly. He looked up at the surrounding cliff faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He saw her, up a few hundred feet, on some kind of overlook. Her hair was down and free, not tied down as she usually had it. It was tossed in the wind, just a little, the cold, refreshing breeze that swept over the land just before sunrise. The sky was pale blue, though the hue of the air was still grey. Her image pierced through any darkness, for her light, her beauty was far stronger than any darkness ever could be.  
That woman, so strong and serious, was the woman to whom he had pledged his loyalty. He would serve her to the end, if necessary. And she was stunning. It was not as a man might find a woman beautiful that he found beauty in her. It was simply her state of being. It was as though nothing she could ever do would make her unattractive. He did not find her attractive as a potential lover, for he knew she was betrothed to another. But she was still stunning. There was something about her manner that caused her to simply radiate beauty. But she could be cruel too. Cold and unforgiving as the winter’s dawn. She would cut down anything in her path that she did not agree with, without regret or remorse. Yet he still would serve her to the end, even if it was by her hand he found his demise.  
As he had been looking up to her, he forgot the world around him. It was not until she mounted Greyfer and started down that he shook himself free of whatever spell she seemed to have cast over him. He watched her make her way down, her loyal steed picking the safest path through the rocks. When she neared the bottom, he rose from his bedroll and turned to pack it up.  
“Get ready to leave, Tarre,” he heard her command as she approached.  
“I figured as much, my lady,” he replied, having already started to pack up their humble camp, “When do you want to leave?”  
“As soon as possible. We have far to go today.”  
“How far?”  
“Ideally, we will reach the Rasonphel divide by the afternoon, though I find that unlikely. We may have to stay in an inn until tomorrow and make the final leg of the journey then.”  
With that, she swung off her gelding and began to roll her bedroll up. She tied the strings tightly, then grabbed her leather corset from beside where the bedroll had lain. Pulling it on, she began to lace it up tightly in the front. When she had made her way down to the bottom, she tied it tightly in a bow and tucked it under. Grabbing her ankle boots, she pulled them on and laced them up, then tied them off. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her hair behind her head and quickly braided it down, tying it off with a leather thong as usual. She grabbed her saddle from beside her bedroll and walked it over to Greyfer’s side. First, she threw the blanket on his back, followed by the saddle, which she girthed rather tightly under him. He stood still, compliant and patient as usual. Returning to where her bedroll had been lain, she lifted her sword from beside her knapsack, and fastened it to her side. She grabbed her second belt, which held three or four short knives, along with her one slightly longer one, and attached it over her sword belt. She fastened another small knife, held up by a strap, just above her ankle, one on her upper arm, upper leg, and tucked a final one inside her shirt and under her corset. Then, she picked up her dual fighting knives, each about half the length of her arm, and pulled their sheaths with her arrow quiver onto her shoulders. Finally, she grabbed her bow and lifted it over her head, leaving it across her body. Once all her weapons were attached to her, she pulled her black cloak over her shoulders, concealing them.  
Tarre simply fastened his sword belt, quiver, and bow before he put on his deep green cloak. He understood why Chalandra always carried so many weapons, but he found it rather ridiculous all the same. He could hardly carry that many weapons, so he was still astonished she could do it day in and out without faltering. She had never so much as seemed a little winded or spent from hauling so many weapons around. If he tried, he could likely only carry them half a day, much less an entire day or riding or fighting without needing a break. She simply had adapted to it, he assumed. She was a rather small woman, at least compared to him, so that simply added to his amazement.  
When she was done attaching her various weapons, she shoved her few remaining items into her knapsack and buckled it shut. Slinging it over her shoulder, she carried it over to Greyfer and buckled it to the back of his saddle. Returning to her bedroll, she grabbed it and fastened it to the back of his saddle as well. When she was packed up, she glanced over to Tarre, who was just clipping his knapsack to his horse’s saddle. When he was finished, she nodded to him. He knew what she meant and swung up onto his horse, seeing her do the same. Gathering her reins, she turned her horse to the northeast, the opposite side of the mountain pass from where she had been earlier that morning. With a click of her tongue and a touch of her heels, her horse willingly moved into a long-strided, though even, brisk trot.  
Tarre followed behind her as usual, knowing she knew the way better than he ever could. Besides, she had the faster mount. His worn old gelding served him well, but was no compare or competition for the youthful Greyfer. His golden chestnut coat had long faded into a rusty brown, having lost its gleam to years of misuse and hard work. His former master was a man, not a Dendä, who simply worked the old beast into the ground. Tarre worked him hard, but was a kind master who always saw to his needs at the end of the day. Though he was aging, he was still able to keep pace with Chalandra’s horse, so long as he was given a rest or two in a day’s ride. Though he occasionally lost his footing and stumbled a little, his master never once yanked on the reins or was overly harsh with him. He never needed a stick or spur, so long as his master was kind. Tarre, being a fair and just rider, had never found the need to carry either such equipment, for he knew the horse would carry him to his last breath. Unlike the steeds of the Dendä, this old horse was not immortal. He was simply a horse from farm, broken down over years of farm work. He would die, sooner rather than later most likely, but he would finish off his life serving Tarre, which was a rather thrilling end to an underwhelming and mundane life.  
The grey stones, dense around them, made the pass rather chilly. The light grey stones had not yet absorbed the morning sunlight, causing them to still project the briskness of the night. They did not extend far enough over their heads to bring shade, but they far from needed it. The horses bobbed their heads as they trotted along, feeling fresh from their repose in the meadow the night before, and feeling frisky from the cold air. As they approached a small stream, Chalandra reined in her horse a little, then brought him to a halt before they passed through. Swinging off of Greyfer, she removed her canteen from her knapsack. Kneeling down, she dropped it on the ground beside her. Cupping her hands, she lifted them to her lips and tasted the water.  
“Fresh,” she confirmed, finding it common to find tainted and undrinkable water, “Mountain runoff.”  
She dipped her canteen into the small stream and allowing it to fill to the brim. Tarre copied her suit while his mount drank deeply downstream a little, thankful for the cold water.  
When they had both filled their canteens, Chalandra tucked hers back into her knapsack and remounted Greyfer. The horse had waited patiently, not yet thirsty for cool water. She slapped his neck and few times before clucking to him and pressing her leg against his sides. He moved forward willingly, forging the small stream in just a few strides. On the other side, she reined him back around to check and see if Tarre was following. He swung up and began to cross to the other side, the water barely coming to his horse’s knees though the older horse was far shorter than Greyfer. Once they were on the other side, she turned Greyfer back around and sent him into a brisk trot. He opened up a little into a rolling canter when they entered a flat plain, knowing his mistress would not object to his forward gait. She sat deep in the saddle and relaxed a little, letting herself move with his rocking motion, her arrows clinking in the quiver on her back as he moved. Tarre, though his mount was far less tenacious than Chalandra’s, did not want to be left behind. He closed his leg against the horse’s side, sending him into a canter as well.  
Soon they exited the mountain pass. Their enjoyable ride in the cooler weather was quickly over, and they returned to worn and dusty trails. Though the dust filled their lungs and dried their mouths, they were able to ride faster on the flattened trails, worn down from years of carts and riders. Though neither of them liked riding on the trails of men, it was oftentimes the best way to move quickly from place to place, but only if they did not mind being seen. For this particular meeting, they did not mind, for they had been summoned. They were expected, and anyone who approached them on the road would be told so. Yet it was rare they were questioned, for Chalandra had a particular, intimidating demeanor that generally deterred people from speaking to her. She always acted as though she knew where she was going and what she was doing, even if she knew nothing at all, for her confidence tended to scare people away. In particular, it worked on men. Men whose eye she had caught with her attractive looks, but who she most certainly was not interested in. They might watch her for a while, and consider approaching her, but they always seemed to lose interest the moment they realized she was very much in charge of those around her. She ruled the conversation, not allowing it to go a moment past what she wanted, and she moved people out of the way with a simple, piercing gaze. No man wanted a woman with confidence who would question him or prevent him from being the head of the household.  
Men, they wanted meek and humble women who would sit by quietly, tending the hearth and cooking dinner. They wanted willing workers who would clean and keep their home and care for their children. Likewise, they wanted strong, supple women who would bear them many healthy sons. They desired women who would submit to their desires, without a thought or care for their own wants and needs. They did not want women who stood up for themselves, who were unafraid to say no and to tell off their husbands. No man desired a woman who would talk back, or who be unafraid of their husbands. They wanted a woman who was afraid, and perhaps, rightly so, for many a man was unafraid to beat their wife if she stepped out of line. Yet Chalandra could never be that woman. She was powerful, very likely far more powerful than her husband. She was never afraid of anyone, but she would fervently refuse to marry a man she was uneasy with. If she did not know he would never hurt her, that he would never raise a finger in ill contempt against her, she would not stand by his side. Yet if she knew she was cared for above all else in the eyes of that man, she was the most loyal, most ardent of companions. She would do anything, and give anything, for that man.

Now that they were on the general road, Chalandra pushed her gelding into a brisk canter. He willingly responded, giving her an open and long-strided, though gentle, canter. She sat deeply, allowing her hips to roll with the motion and her hands to follow his mouth, making her hand more gentle with his bit. He bobbed his head a little, shaking it and trying to rid himself of a fly which had flown up his nose. Snorting, he managed to free himself of the annoyance. As they cantered, Chalandra’s arrows once again jangled in her quiver, but she was otherwise silent as her braid bounced on her back.  
Tarre trailed behind her, though he lagged a bit on his older steed. The horse still tried his best, struggling to keep up with the younger, fresher mount. But he never once wavered in his willingness. He went forward all the same, passing carts and other horses with all the spring in his step that he could manage. When they finally neared a town, Chalandra slowed her horse to an easy, slow trot. He settled down quickly, having grown a bit fiery from their jaunt. Arching his neck, he came back to her hand, ready to respond quickly to her lightest of cues. She sat light on his back, careful to avoid flopping around on him as he trotted, knowing it could make him sore for a few days after. As they neared a small inn, she brought him back to a walk, then halted him in front of the inn.  
Swinging off her horse, she landed on the ground, her arrows clinking around as usual. Tarre rode up behind her, and copied her suit.  
“Are we stopping already?” he asked, surprised she had decided to rest so early in the day, and the sun had barely begun to set.  
“We are still about eight miles away from the Rasonphel meeting place, by my estimations. We will finish the journey at first light,” she answered, failing to realize this was likely the most personal conflict against anyone she had ever faced.  
Had she known why they summoned her, she would have ridden day and night. Instead, she briefly touched Greyfer’s forehead and left him, reins still around his neck, outside. Though there were a few men who glanced her way as she made her way into the inn, she refused to so much as pause to acknowledge them. She pushed open the door, nearly throwing it against the wall on the other side. She so frequently forgot her own strength, but more importantly, her manners. She did not care what those around her thought of her, how they perceived her. She simply endured, lived her own life. She used to be so conscious of those around her, what they thought of her, but that had vanished so long ago. It vanished when she died.  
Though the hood on her cloak was down, she still used it to conceal her vast array of weapons. Although it was not her intention, it made her far more intimidating, which she never had any objection to.  
In silence, in her usual, brooding manner, she strode up to the desk, then said: “I need two rooms, for tonight only.”  
“I can manage that,” answered the man behind the desk, allowing his eyes to slip down to Chalandra’s body, though she was well concealed by her cloak.  
“I will require a packed breakfast ready before the sun rises tomorrow.”  
“I can manage that as well,” he replied, still focused on her body.  
“Can you manage to look at my face?” she shot, realizing the situation.  
“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he replied, finally looking at her face.  
“I said, can you manage to look at my face?” she repeated.  
“As opposed to?”  
“Standing there, leering, hoping that somehow, by your gaze, my body will become revealed to you,” she snapped, wanting to strangle the sweaty, overweight, mouth-breathing man.  
He stood, briefly, with his mouth open, trying to think of a response. Finally, Chalandra shook her head.  
“Just give me the keys,” she finally demanded.  
When he dropped them onto the desk, she snatched them up. From under her cloak, she pulled her small bag of money. She carried next to none save what she required to pay for her room and board. Often, she did not even keep that, but rather hunted small game and slept under the stars. She had stolen, before, and she would again. But she did not find shame in that, for it had become necessary for to fulfil her duties, or at least so she told herself. Mostly though, she took the money from off of the dead bodies of her lifeless victims.  
Shaking three coins from out of the small bag, she laid the silver on the counter top. Without another word, she motioned to Tarre to follow her. Being the loyal apprentice that he was, he took up both his and her bags in, and had both slung over his shoulders. She led him down the hallway. When she found the numbers on the doors that matched her keys, she stopped and unlocked the door. She entered the room with a sigh, tired of living in inns and sleeping alone. Had she lived a different life, she would be lying beside Thane now. She would be held against his chest, watched over by his careful eye. Protected by his strong, caring arms. Yet here she was, a woman, old by any standard of man or Dendä, at least now, as they had all been slaughtered. The few remaining were far younger than she, for most of the older ones had been killed off. Some of the younger generations had been living amongst men before the war, though they were few and far between as well. Still, that little fact made her old by Dendä standards. She was well over ten times the age of the other Dendä she had met, and even more than a hundred times the age of most half-bloods she had encountered.  
So although her face made her appear young in the eyes of men, she was old. She was old, and likely barren, and husbandless. She had a man out there, who would love and support her, but he did not even know she was alive. He believed her to be dead. So here she was. Alone, with an apprentice, and no children, and no prospects for a husband. She was a spinster, by all accounts, although her beauty far surpassed those around her and she would have no trouble attracting a man in that manner. She was simply too different. She was not called to be some brute’s housewife, some meek, gentle woman who saw to and attended his ever need and bidding. She was a warrior. So likewise, she lived a warrior’s life. She slept on the hard mattresses of inns, she ate their stale, dry food. She drank their metallic water and dwelled under their leaking roofs, never staying in one place for more than a night or two. She was simply always a drifter, a woman without a home. She knew what she was. Sometimes, she desired to change it. Other times, she realized she would never, ever be able to fit into such a mundane life. She was born for this, for travelling, for fighting, not for cooking and cleaning and keeping a house, raising children. She was a warrior, born and bred.

Tarre entered her room behind her, simply to place her knapsack on the floor. She nodded her thanks as he left, closing the door behind him. She was too old for this, yet this was still her life. The life of drifting from place to place and living in inns. Shaking her head a little, she looked around the dreary room. There were not curtains, nor was there any light other than a kerosene lamp on the dresser. The bed was on the right wall, directly in front of her. It was simply a thin straw mattress laid over the top of some wooden slats in the shape of a bedframe. To the left was a small wardrobe, not that she would be unpacking her supplies. She had hardly nothing to her name, and there was no point in leaving her things in it only to unpack it the following morning. Instead, she moved her knapsack to beside her bed. If she needed anything in the night, it was right beside her, and she would not have to worry about repacking it for the following morning, for it was right there and ready to go.  
Finding nothing more to do, she returned to the hallway and made her way down the corridor. Though she always despised the main dining room, usually a pub of some sort, she knew she needed to eat. Her body could endure years without food and water, yet, when available, it was best for her to eat and drink. Though her strength would not deteriorate for a long time, Tarre would, and she knew he would refuse to eat alone. And although it was very unlikely, if she was ever reunited with Thane, she would want to be strong. For a woman who was Dendä warrior, born and bred, often lost their ability to bear children when they failed to consume food. Their bodies simply shut out the possibility, seeing as such resources were needed elsewhere. That was why she thought herself to be barren, as in all her years of abuse, she had failed to become a woman of regularity, which had proven important for bearing children. Those who were not, such as her, had a difficult time bearing children, but also, had a hard time carrying a child to the end. Often, their bodies ended the pregnancy when under stress, for their warrior instincts warned that they needed to be strong and fast, and therefor, would be unable to continue carrying the child. That was one reason most warriors failed to marry, for they were not accepted by a husband, having a reputation for being delicate, and usually failing, mothers. Though all her outward wounds had disappeared since she had been sent back, that was one thing that did not seem to resolve itself. She still did not bleed as she was supposed to, in cycle with the moon as women in the land of men did.  
Yet, if she ever saw Thane again, she would want to be strong. If she was strong, perhaps he would take her back, being the kind, loyal man he was. Perhaps, if she became all she was supposed to be, he would be caring enough to put a roof over her head and take her in again. But she had to be strong. The women in the lands of men were stout and strong, conditioned not for war, but for housework. For the bearing and rearing of children. It was far easier for them to bear children than it would be for her. If Thane chose instead to take in a woman from the land of men, his children would be half-bloods, but he would have children, and further, he would be ensuring the survival of their kind in some form. He understood duty. The likelihood was that he had taken a woman, probably one of the land of men, for that very reason.  
If that were the case, she would remain single for the rest of her days. Unlike him, she did not feel bound by some sense of duty to a race that had scorned her and hated her. Additionally, she would likely never bear a child either way, so there was no point in chaining herself to a man who did not love or respect her for the rest of her days. However, if he was still a man without a wife, as she had left him, but weighed down by his sense of loyalty to her, there was every possibility that finding his woman alive but no longer pure and innocent, would encourage him to seek another woman. It was because of these very reasons that she forced herself to eat when she was not hungry, for she wanted to be strong, like women from the village of men, that he might choose her. That she might appear strong and suitable for him.

Briefly, she glanced out the main window at the front of the inn, only to see Tarre leading away their horses in search of stabling. Confident in their care, she took a seat on a high stool. A moment later, one of the bar wenches came over.  
“What can I get you?” she asked, obviously not in much of a hurry as the place was nearly empty.  
In just an hour or so, the entire inn would be buzzing with life, primarily men searching out a drink.  
“Just a bowl of stew and some water,” she answered quietly, keeping calm even in the environment that irritated her immensely.  
“Of course,” The women replied, and disappeared into the kitchen.  
A moment later, Tarre joined her, taking the stool beside her.  
“The horses are stabled just across the street,” he informed her, shifting in his seat a little.  
He never liked taverns much either, and did not hide it nearly as well as Chalandra. He spent as little time as possible, and always only remained long enough to eat. The incentive of food was strong for him, for he needed it in order to keep up his strength, though he would not perish without it. Had that not been the case, he likely would have gone without before being found in a pub.  
“Thank you, Tarre,” she answered, nodding a little.  
He glanced around the room nervously. A moment later, the barmaid returned with Chalandra’s food.  
“Could I have the same, please?” he requested.  
She simply nodded and disappeared again. Chalandra did not wait for his food to arrive, but instead starting working on her meal. The stew consisted of some form of meat, likely deer from a recent hunt, and a few kinds of vegetables, primarily potatoes and carrots, all in a rather thin broth. It was not good, but was as good as to be expected from food included with board. If she had of wanted brew or other spirits, she would have had to pay. But two meals, breakfast and dinner were generally provided to guests. Tarre’s stew came out a moment later, and he set to eating it right away without thanking the barmaid. She looked annoyed, but a few other customers came in, causing her to leave without another word. Likely, she had found the young man, well-toned and broad-shouldered, to be attractive, but was disappointed at his apparent lack of communication. In reality, he was an effective communicator, but simply only spoke as much as was required. She smiled, pitying the young woman to some extent. No woman, as of yet, had been able to gain his attention, much less his affection. He was simply oblivious to the world around him.  
In silence, as he shoveled the food into his mouth as quickly as possible, she tore off a bit of the bread served with the stew. A moment or two later, the woman came back, perhaps to try her chances at Tarre again.  
“Excuse me, are you able to have breakfast packed for guests leaving early?” Chalandra asked, knowing the woman did not particularly want to help her, for she currently had male customers who would likely tip her far better, simply because they enjoyed watching her.  
Or, perhaps, she came for Tarre. Either way, she was not pleased, per say, at her interruption.  
“If you want it,” she answered, obviously annoyed with Chalandra’s refusal to read her intention, or at least abide by them.  
“Please. If you could arrange for both of us to have packed breakfasts tomorrow, we will be leaving before sunrise, hence the reason we are eating so early,” she requested, smiling warmly as though to challenge the young woman.  
It was rare Chalandra allowed herself to remain calm when challenged, but she was feeling generous at the moment.  
“Both of you?” she asked, not realizing her and Tarre were travelling together, “I didn’t realize you were together.”  
“Yes, we are,” she confirmed, “We have been travelling together for some time.”  
“I apologize, I didn’t realize. I didn’t mean to intrude.”  
“We are not together in that way. We are simply travelling together,” Chalandra clarified, laughing a little.  
It was as she suspected. For the first time in a long while, she felt lighthearted about something. She wanted to see Tarre find love, to experience something other than his consuming need to fulfill his duties.  
“I apologize all the same, I should not have jumped to conclusion as I did,” she repeated, “I will be sure that your breakfasts are packed tonight, so they will be ready whenever you want them. There’s always someone at the front desk, so they will be able to fetch it for you whenever you want to leave.”  
“Thank you, I appreciate your assistance,” Chalandra answered as she finished the last of her stew.  
She set a copper coin down on the counter, then rose from her chair when Tarre was finished. As they made their way down the hallway, he turned to her.  
“What was the woman apologizing for? I do not understand what conclusions she seemed to have thought she jumped to.”  
“She thought you were attractive Tarre, and she was afraid she had angered me by being kind to you due to that reason. She thought we were travelling together, likely married. Obviously, we are not, so I do not mind if someone finds you attractive.”  
“Attractive?” he asked, obviously confused.  
“Handsome,” she clarified.  
“Why would you want someone to find me attractive?”  
“I do not, necessarily, I just do not mind if they do. Someday, you will have to find someone you think is beautiful who you get along with well if you are going to get married.”  
“You already know I am bound to my work. I do not, and will not, allow feelings for a woman cloud my intentions or my actions. That is what makes a person weak.”  
Chalandra smiled as she opened her door.  
“You realize emotion is the only reason we are here now. I allowed emotion to guide me, I always have. Without emotion, there is nothing. We are not meant to be made of steel, without sense of loss or love. We are living, sentient beings that made choices, all choices, based on emotion. No matter what your books said, the writings of the old Dendä were wrong. Emotion is the only thing that can guide us. Not that we should become slave to emotion, but emotion is the only thing that can distinguish right from wrong, and the only force strong enough to fell an army. Without emotion, we have nothing, nor will we ever.”  
“Perhaps, my lady, by emotion in the wrong hands does far more harm than good.”  
“I am afraid I am testament to that,” she sighed, shaking her head, “However, I never wish for you to give up love for duty. That is the greatest mistake any person could ever make. Love always comes before duty, for love is the most potent, most powerful of all emotions. It is the only reason I am still walking upon this earth.”  
She knew for now, this was his belief. Her only desire was that in time, he would learn to accept emotions. He could become even more powerful with them, if he only learned they would become his friend, not his enemy. He was far too much of the traditional Dendä, having read their works and studied their beliefs. Although it made for a good soldier, it made for a poor, lonely life. She simply did not want to see him throw his life away on such meaningless things, when there was so much more that mattered.  
“Good night, Tarre.”  
“Good night,” he replied, nodding his head a little.  
Though her teachings were contrary to what the Dendä before him had taught, he knew she was far wiser than those before them. She was able to see more, and was able to understand greater than those who came before. Yet it was hard for him to accept such a different viewpoint, when he had been shown another way his entire life. He knew, in the end, she would be proven right, but for now, he had to continue things his way, for he could not yet comprehend the complexity of emotion. In time, he would try to understand what she was teaching him, but he never wanted to take on a weakness. Something, or someone, who would bring him down and put his motivations in check.  
“What time do you wish to leave tomorrow?” he asked, as he turned to leave.  
“An hour before sunrise,” she answered with a smile, knowing he would gladly be ready by then.  
It was early in the night, barely an hour after sunset, so she would have little time rising the following morning to leave by that time. Though she did not, by definition, need sleep, she never liked to go without, having been deprived of it for so many years. It was the only time she was able to be at peace, to even cling to the idea of peace. It was the only time she saw Thane, and she saw him nearly every night, though she feared that would not be her reality when she met him again. He was likely off with some woman, or, perhaps, another Dendä. Either way, he was likely taken away from her. If that were the case, the only time he was hers was in her dreams. So she savored each and every one of them, never wanting them to end. If any one of them could be her reality, she would trade it in a heartbeat, yet she knew that could never be the case.  
Glancing down the hallway once more in either direction, having heard the clamor of the pub as it started to fill up with men, she closed the door as Tarre made his way to his room, being sure to lock it once it was closed. Sighing deeply, she turned to the lonely, barren room before her. The windowless rooms she stayed in always seemed ever smaller at the end of the day. The jeering of men, done with the day’s work, and starting to grow drunk seemed to make the walls close around her, suffocating her. When she was able, she always preferred to sleep out under the stars, as it was free and clear. There was no feeling of cluster, nor any space too small. Yet she felt as though Tarre needed to be about men sometimes, for he was half man. She never minded being isolated from society, but he had grown up among them. Though he did not agree with their ideals, he might have, or in some way could, find strength in their communities. Besides, he needed food, real food. Anything they had out there, they had to hunt and cook. They had to search for water and for berries and nuts if they desired food and drink. Here, they could simply pay for it. She did not require such things to keep up her strength, but he did.  
But there was one more reason she would visit the towns, on occasion. The gossip. Although she never much liked to listen to it, it provided a great wealth of information on the divides on their desires. The women often had husbands working with the divides, and the men had friends and brothers in them as well. They would gossip in the pubs, or she was otherwise able to eavesdrop about such information. Most of the time, they knew where the divides were holing up, and who they were currently working with, how strong their numbers were, and other vital information.  
Today, though, she did not need information. She needed rest. She needed love, but that was not something she was currently privy to, at least not in the sense she craved. So instead, she untied the harness which homed her dual knives and slid it from her shoulders. She peeled off her bow, and her quiver. She undid the belt that held her sword and her knives, and she slowly removed each of her knives from every creative and hidden nook. Her cloak she had lain on the edge of her bed, and her weapons she had lain on the floor. Rubbing her shoulders briefly, as they had supported a great deal of strain throughout the day, she rolled them as she began to unlace her corset. Once her corset was off of her shoulders, she simply let her hair down and untied her boots, leaving them sitting on the floor beside her knapsack. She often slept in her clothes, for she did not truly care, and she only had two outfits, keeping it easy for travel. Finally, she sat down on the edge of straw mattress, sending the smell of hay and dust swirling about her head. It was repulsive at first, but she had grown used to the stale smell. It was the closest thing to home she had known in a great while.  
Taking a deep breath in, she let the musty smell fill her lungs. Slowly, she lay back onto the thin pillow, letting the well used mattress fold around her body. For a long while, she stared up at the ceiling, memorizing the pattern of the wooden panels. Every minute or so, there would be a creak, or a small puff of dust as someone walked overhead. This was one of the few inns she had stayed in that was more than one story. It was busier, louder. In addition to the jeers and laughter from down the hallway, in the pub, there was the constant sound of footsteps in the hallway or overhead. Usually, it would make her blood boil. But for some reason, she was quiet today. It did not bother her as it usually would have. Instead, she reached forward, over her legs, and pulled the scratchy blanket up over her body. It was green, and well worn. It had likely been spun of cotton, or something cheap, as it was not soft, and did next to nothing to shelter her from the cold, unlike wool, which would have protected her far better. But it hardly mattered. She was tired enough to sleep either way.  
Eyes fixed on the dark brown wooden beams, she finally closed her eyes against the dim light. There was nothing to do other than try to sleep. For a long time, she tossed and turned, each time she rolled over, the wobbly bed frame squeaking beneath her. She moved the blanket up and down, trying to find something that made her comfortable. But it was not found. Eventually, she fell into the abyss of sleep, claimed by the quiet darkness, if only for a spell. For once, after she was taken by sleep, she did not wake. She slept soundly, dreaming of nothing but darkness. Most nights, Thane walked with her in her dreams, bringing her a temporary sense of peace. Though, when she woke, as she always did, he was gone, and she became ever more uncomfortable and lonely. She always woke after the dream ended, no matter how wonderful and perfect it was. Perhaps that was why she always remembered them, for she always woke immediately after. She had never understood why, but it was her unfortunate reality. His arms, that would be the one place she could truly be comfortable, the place she would be able to sleep through the night in peace. They would have sheltered her from the terrible nightmares of death and destruction. They would have kept her safe from the darkness that hunted her all her life. They would have protected her from any being or spirit or person or entity that sought to harm her. He would never let anything touch her. His arms would have kept her safe to morning light.

Her body had grown so accustomed to waking at a certain hour that she jerked awake two hours before dawn. For a moment, she sat on the edge of the bed, panting, trying to regain her bearings. It was always a bit startling to wake so quickly, yet she always calmed quickly. Her brow had a touch of sweat on it, although she did not remember any haunting dreams in particular. She took a long, deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. For a moment, her hand was quivering. Then, it stopped. Letting out her breath, she groaned a little to herself. She wanted more sleep, as always, yet there was work to be done. She had a meeting with the Rasonphel divide, and she had to honor that agreement.  
From the side of her bed, she retrieved her weapons and returned them to their designated places. If she was a mortal, her shoulders would have ached a little in the crisp morning air, having been responsible for carting around so many weapons the day prior, yet she did not even feel a tingle of pain. Her body was a machine, capable of destruction far greater than any other weapon. She had become a weapon in every sense of the word. Now, she simply had to bring the peace. It was never the defeat of Gesfel. It was the establishment of peace she had been tasked with. And she understood that now. For Gesfel’s games and manipulations had broken the peace, so it was her job to restore it, by any means necessary.  
Wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, she departed the confining room she had made her bed in. Without a sound, she made her way down the hall, and knocked on Tarre’s door. From within, she heard him groan a little.  
“My lady?” he asked groggily.  
“Be ready to go within fifteen minutes,” she commanded, then disappeared down the hallway from whence she came.  
Briskly, as she had never had a fondness for doing things slowly when there were tasks ahead, she found her way to the dining hall again. A single woman was wiping down the counters from the previous night’s excitement.  
“I should have two breakfasts waiting for me,” was all she said.  
The woman understood, and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two cloth-wrapped packets.  
“Thank you,” she said, taking them and dropping a single bronze coin into the woman’s hand.  
Tucking the breakfasts into her knapsack, which was slung over her shoulder, she turned and made her way to the front door. Rather roughly, as a man would, she shoved open the door and let the crisp morning air surround her. There was hardly a sound, and no one walking the streets. A dog barked in the distance, and the sound of a baby crying, only to be quickly shushed by its mother, came from an open window. Immediately, she turned to her right, and made her way down the street to the stables which they had passed on their way into town. She entered through the open doorway, and briefly look about the stables before spotting their two horses. Without a word to the stable attendant, she approached her horses and grabbed their tack. First, she tossed the saddle onto Greyfer’s back, knowing he would stand still as she saddled him. Once the girth was tightened, she slung her knapsack over his haunches.  
“Stay here,” she instructed softly, briefly laying her hand on his forehead.  
Turning to the old chestnut, she saddled him as well, then offered him the bit. He accepted it without a fuss, and she slipped the bridle over his head. Knowing the old horse would stay quiet as well, she bridled Greyfer and swung up onto his back. Grabbing the end of the old chestnut’s reins, she led them out of the stables and onto the dusty road. Even though it was the early morning hours, it was dusty. She could already see the haze in the dim light.  
Turning the horses down the street, she rode them up in front of the inn. A moment later, Tarre’s tall, brooding frame appeared in the doorway. He rubbed his eyes as he walked over to them, obviously still groggy.  
“I apologize for not having risen earlier,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from just having woke.  
“I woke earlier than expected and figured we might as well be on our way,” she answered, in her own way telling him it was not his fault, but at the same time, reminding him of how cold she could be.  
She had forgotten how to think of others, especially half-bloods, and consider how an extra hour of sleep may benefit them. However, he would never question her, for he knew she was a broken, hurting woman thought she was incredibly strong on the exterior. She was far wiser than him, and she certainly did not need him pestering her over a half hour of sleep.  
“How far until we reach the meeting place?” he asked, still trying to shake off the grip of sleep as he swung up onto the old chestnut and pressed his horse into a walk.  
“About twenty-five miles. I believe we will be there an hour or so after sunset. It’s a small camp, not even close to their base. Essentially, it’s an outpost or even a trading post between their camp and the Yewflower’s. But there are men stationed there, and that is where they summoned me to meet,” she explained, “I am rarely an invited guest. I would not believe they know my face, only my name from the divide wars. I suspect they will try and recruit me to be a warrior for them, which I am not planning on doing. However, I must speak to whoever wishes to hear from me, for it is in the planting of little seeds I will be able to cultivate my desires.”


	15. Pressure

“Drop your weapons!” called out a guard.  
The voice came from up in the trees, drawing Chalandra’s attention to the treetops. Her keen eyes spotted him, a ways up, with an arrow set to the string and pointed towards her. She smiled coldly, knowing he could do her no harm. Still, she took her swords from her side and stabbed it into the ground Then, she pulled her bow and quiver, and hung them on the hilt of the sword.  
“Satisfied?” she taunted, letting her hand fall to her belt, where she had a long knife concealed, along with additional small knives hidden throughout her body.  
“Raise your hands,” he demanded.  
“Oh, but I could not do that. That would imply that I surrender, which I most certainly do not. I am yielding to the request that I meet with your leader, Yetal, not surrendering. Besides, I am a mere woman, what harm could I do?” she asked sweetly, trying to play the guard.  
“I know all too well who you are. Now raise your hands,” he repeated.  
“You do not want me to do that,” she replied solemnly, “For if I do, your spirit will depart your body before your body hits the dirt.”  
“Very well,” he consented, knowing all too well she made good on her threats, “Yetal is just ahead. He is expecting you.”  
“As he should be, for he is the one who summoned me. Do not touch my weapons,” she warned as she walked off, her long, graceful, but quiet steps consuming the ground before her.  
It was only a moment longer before she saw the fair-haired man, aging and overweight, with a unkempt curly blonde beard which seemed crusted with food.  
“Are you Chalandra?” he barked, his voice stripping away any beauty that could possibly be in her name.  
“Indeed I am,” she answered, her melodic voice in stark contrast to his harsh, deep one, “I assume you have a reason to have summoned me to this vile bog?”  
“Of course I do,” he sneered, sniffling and wiping nose with the back of his hand, “But I suppose a man might use any excuse to lay eyes upon a woman so fair? You could hardly blame him for it.”  
“Except for the fact that said woman would gouge your eyes out if there was not a valid reason for such a meeting,” she challenged, growing impatient with the revolting leader.  
“See gents, there’s a girl with spark. The more fire, the more fun it is to douse out,” he mocked, turning to the two young men on either side acting as guard.  
They chuckled a little, though seemed a touch uncomfortable with the situation. Clearly, they had heard of her skill and frankly, terror, before.  
“Save for when the fire burns you before you succeed in putting it out,” she returned coolly, though ready to yank the beard off the man’s chin.  
“Like I said, spark. It’s ever so fun to put fire in check,” he continued, shaking his head knowingly.  
“Are you going to get down to business any time soon, or I am going to have to free your ignorant brain from your wretched body in order to understand why you have summoned me here.”  
“To put out of the fire, of course.”  
“Make your point or swear on my fiancé I shall force you to watch as I burn your entrails whilst still in your body. Do not test me, I have done it before, and I will do it again.”  
“Oh, this fire is going to be so much fun to control. So much fun indeed,” he laughed again, his heavy southern accent echoing through the woods, “You see, it’s your ex fiancé we want to talk about.”  
“You, by all means, should not even know of him.”  
“Ah, but we do. We know a lot about him too.”  
“Please then, state your point,” she begged, wanting desperately to simply slit his throat and be done with it.  
“Hopefully, we can come to some form of agreements. I have heard of your little reign of terror in the neighboring lands. They all say we ought to run from you, to turn tail the moment we hear your name in our villages. But I thought you could be reasoned with. That there was obviously an intelligent being beneath the flame and finesse. So, I thought I better reason with you rather than fight fire with fire.”  
“No, I do no reason with the lowly beings who destroyed my entire people and made it so that I was separated from the man I care about. Furthermore, I would never reason with such snakes as yourselves. I would sooner see you made into a pair of shoes than strike a deal with you. I care not what army you have behind you, they do not frighten me.”  
“See now, that’s what I thought. That none of that stuff was going to matter to you. You never shied away before, why would you now?” he asked, grinning broadly to reveal his yellowing, rotting teeth, “So I thought to myself, what could possibly matter to so brave a woman? To so strong a woman? If I want any chance for my people, not just against you, but to get that information, I need you on my side. So I did the best I could.”  
“And what does that matter to me? There is nothing, nothing, in this world that I care enough about to give you any additional information on that treasure, much less help you to find it,” she answered sharply, annoyed by the summons from a man who seemed to lack the ability to make a point.  
“Yet I believe that is not quite true. There is still a thing or two you care for.”  
“You are wrong, there is nothing, nothing, in this world that I consider a weakness. There is nothing here that you could use against me to force my hand,” she shot back, firm of resolve.  
“Not even the child Tarre?” he asked calmly in the face of a woman so willful and harsh.  
“But alas, Tarre is not child, nor does he need my protecting. Furthermore, he is by my side even now, and is perfectly safe, just hidden from your view.”  
“Perhaps so. Sadly, I have not yet been able to get near enough to that apprentice. Thankfully, I still know of one other weakness of yours.”  
“And what could that possibly be?” she asked sharply, at wit’s end with her patience.  
“You can think of no one else?”  
“No one you could get your slimy hand on,” she scoffed.  
“You should show your new master more respect than that. You ought to respect me, as I can tear your life apart,” he warned.  
“And I, yours, so I say we are square. But I would truly like to know how you intend to tear apart a life I do not have. I should like to see you try, for as I said, there is nothing left for me to care about,” she sighed, “Now, if you do not make your threat by the time you have finished drawing your next breath, I will make it your last.”  
“As I said, you need to show some respect,” he repeated, taking one step towards her.  
Immediately, she drew the long knife from her belt and jumped behind him, shoving it roughly against his throat and hauling him to the side, and forcing her back against a tree to prevent any men stationed above her from getting a shot at her back. Eyes narrowed, she looked to the guards, who had drawn their weapons in anticipation.  
“Make any attempt, and I will tear him limb from limb. He may be returned to you, but he will be without the ability to breath, for I will slit his throat. If you know anything about me, have heard even a single tail, you know my word is good,” she threatened.  
Then, letting her gaze drop just a little, she pressed the knife more firmly against his throat, and said: “Now, as for you, I swear I will end you if you do not make your threat by the time you finish your next, or possibly last, breath. This time, I am deadly serious.”  
“Thane,” he muttered, choking against the knife at his throat, “Thane is your reason.”  
“What do you mean Thane?” she snapped, pressing it ever harder against him.  
“I have him,” he said between clenched teeth, obviously angry.  
Though she did not fully believe him, his words crashed over her like cold water, fear resonating through her veins. Immediately, she threw him down, shoving him into the dirt.  
“No,” she breathed, trying to see whether he was serious or not, “No, you cannot possibly.”  
She struggled to check her anger so she would not kill him on the spot. Laughing, Yetal shoved himself off the ground and rose to his feet, smiling as he brushed the dirt from his clothes.  
“Oh, but we do.”  
“That is impossible. Not even I know where he is. A sniveling bounty hunter, divide leader, whatever it is you call yourself, could never track him down. Not when I myself cannot find him,” she reasoned in disbelief, trying in vain to make sense of his words.  
“You cannot find him because we have him. And we have hidden him well. For good reason too, for I know you will go to almost any lengths to keep him safe, even if that meant destroying an entire army with your bare hands. If you kill me, if you kill my men, you will never find him, I promise you that.”  
“You are right to believe I would go to any lengths to protect him, for I would. I care for the man whose name you now try to toss in my face. But I do not believe, not for a heartbeat, that you actually have managed to capture him. He is a strong man, capable of much in defense of his life.”  
“Maybe the man you knew was. But not now. You forget, he does not know you are alive. He has lost all will to live. He wants to die. He did not fight, he simply resigned himself to whatever fate lay at our hands. He is not the man you claim to have loved.”  
“If my death crushed him, what do you believe my return to life will do? No matter what he appears as now, I can restore him to great things. I can restore him to life. I still do not believe you though, that you actually managed to capture him. You would not know him from any other man who walks among your people.”  
“You can deny it all you wish, but I know the truth, as do my men. Unless you bend to pressure and surrender yourself and whatever information you know, I will have him killed.”  
“If I surrender, would you take me to him?” she asked, twirling her blade between her fingers as she spoke.  
“I am not some ignorant bastard, I know what a mistake that would be. If you were reunited with the man you love, you would not need to share anything with us, you would simply be able to make your escape. I know better than that. You would be taken to him once the treasure was found,” he answered, chuckling and laying his hands on his pudgy stomach as he spoke.  
“I see. So there is no proof you actually have Thane?” she inquired calmly, “I would have to rely on your word? The word of a snake?”  
“I hope you would think more highly of me than that. I may not be the wisest man you have ever encountered, but I do in fact know better than to make empty threats to a woman of such…” he paused, searching for the right word, “Reputation.”  
“You appear not to be wise enough not to. You seem to have taken me for a fool in this situation. I do not respond well to threats, of any kind for that matter. Much less ones that personally threaten one of the few things I care about. You have made such a threat, and have not offered any form of proof.”  
“But you are not naïve enough to take such a chance, are you?”  
“I will give you some information, just a little,” she answered, a small smile crossing her lips, “You want to know what I know about the treasure? Everything. I know nearly everything now. But I warn you, it is not what you believe it to be. It is dangerous, incredibly dangerous. It is not what you believe it to be, and I will tell you no more. If you continue to hunt that treasure, despite my warning, then I will tear your world apart. I will never let anyone find it, not since I know what it is. And as for Thane. If you have him, I suggest you release him immediately. For if I discover it is not some empty threat, I will tear your world apart. However, I be mindful, if I were you, and I do not take kindly to threats of any manner. You had best watch out for yourself, because now you have gotten on my dark side.”  
“You are going to regret this!” he cried out, angry that she had not surrender herself.  
“No, you are. For no one should ever threaten something I care about,” she replied, turning around and walking away calmly.  
Inside, seething hate burned. She was going to destroy him. It was only a matter of time. She wanted him dead. She wanted all his people dead. They had made a threat against her and a threat against the man she loved. And they were going to pay for it.  
Behind her, Yatel only grew angrier, yet there was nothing he could do to stop her as she walked away. Had he tried, she would have killed him on the spot. Instead, she collected her weapons in silence and returned to Tarre’s side.  
“Is everything alright, my lady?” he asked, concerned when he saw her clenched fists.  
“They are going to pay for what they have done,” she answered, shaking her head as she swung aboard Greyfer as Tarre held the reins.


	16. Vengeance

“Are you ready?" she asked, keeping her voice low. She glanced to Tarre, waiting for an answer.  
“My lady, I do not mean to question you, but are you certain you wish to do this? It is not necessary,” he protested, though he raised his bow with a arrow in the other hand.  
“They have threatened the only man I ever loved, now they pay for that. No one crosses me, or threatens me, and leaves unpunished.”  
“Yet we need not slaughter them all.”  
“I never said we would slaughter all of them,” she replied, taking a deep breath, "We shall leave one survivor to tell the tale.”  
Her answer was devoid of all emotion, so far separated from the great woman she had seemed to be. A twisted smile crossed her face, and she stood, her black dress masking her against the dark, but not making her invisible. She wanted to be seen. Broadsword in her right hand, she swung it around twice, making a show of the blade in the moonlight.  
“Come then, come from your hiding places. There is no point in staying hidden when I can so easily make sport of you. There is no need to hide in the dark. Come and challenge me in the light! After all, what have you to fear? I am just a mere woman, pining for her husband-to-be, am I not? Perhaps if you show yourselves, I will show you some manner of mercy,” she called out, her voice sweeping through the forest.  
It took a moment, presumably to gather their courage and wits, but one by one, the scouts emerged. Looking up to the night sky, just for a fleeting moment, she smiled, then laughed a little.  
"Such sad, pitiful little soldiers. You believe me to be some hapless woman desiring only to marry and live a quaint little life. Perhaps you think I ought to have children and live as a housewife. Perchance this is even what you believe I want. However, let me tell you the truth. I desire marriage to my fiancé very greatly, so I advise you not to ever threaten to stand between the two of us again. I am not some meek future housewife, I am a warrior. I could fell you all by my blade, my bow, and my knives. I could best even your greatest without a second thought. Furthermore, I need do nothing other than raise my hand, like so,” she said, lifting her left hand, "To end your miserable, worthless, pitiful lives. And I am going to do just that. For this is your punishment. Never come between a warrior and the object of her desire.”  
Immediately, the men sank to their knees, their body and spirit failing. Within seconds, they fell to the earth, lifeless. She smiled, dark, twisted happiness spreading across her face. She was pleased. She was rejoicing her in strength and in their weakness, their downfall. With a wave of her hand, power surged from her. There was nothing and no one who could defeat her, she was all-powerful, and almighty.  
Though he was unable to see, Tarre knew that those within the fort were now dead. She drained their life, destroyed their very essence. And she revealed in it. She could have been great, so great, but instead she took pleasure in the failing of another's breath.  
“My lady, please!" he begged, coming up from the ditch.  
He knew she would not allow anything to harm him, and he furthermore was the only one who would be permitted to reason with her.  
"This is not needed, you do not have to do this.”  
Her smile stretched ever-further across her face.  
"Yet it is already too late. I am finished with this place, with these wretched people.”  
“You slaughtered them all in cold blood!" he cried, distraught, "They had wives, children, families!"  
“No one should ever more these swine. I should be praised for ridding the earth of their wickedness.”  
“How many did you kill? From how many did you rip away breath, leaving them in piles upon the ground? You did not even permit them a chance to dual with you, to make an attempt to disarm you before you could cut them down. You took the coward's way out. You did not at the very least give them a chance to die with honor,” he rebuked, furious with her actions.  
“I do not care. They threatened me and the only man I will ever love. For that, they had to pay.”  
“Yet that will never change the truth. That you killed them all, every last one.”  
“Ah, but that is a falsehood. For as promised, I left one alive,” she corrected, waving her regal hand as she searched for any left alive, "Come forth, come face me!"  
“How cruel are you? To leave one man alive, wretched as he may be, to mourn his very being! He will hate himself until the end of his days to know all his people, his brothers, were killed around him whilst he lives on, doomed to live out his days knowing he too should have died, but instead was the only one to live,” Tarre challenged.  
If she had of continued to be the woman he knew, the great warrior who protected rather than killed, he would have followed her without question. But now, in the absence of her fiancé, he had to attempt to turn her back. To bring her back to the light she had once known.  
“Cruel I may be, yet I will not mourn the death of these worms. Come forth, then, you last wretched soldier. Come that I might see the face of one who I have wronged, yet fail to recognize as one I have wronged. You may choose to stay hidden, preventing me from ever laying eyes on your face. However, if you choose that path, I swear you will lie with your own kind before you draw another breath. There is no where you might run to that will save you from my wrath.”  
Before she spoke another word, a man emerged from behind the bushes. He was slender, barely a man of eighteen. His clothes were torn, presumably from numerous battles on the front. His face was pale white, and he moved with a tremble in his step. As soon as he neared her, he sank to his knees.  
“You, whether wrathful monster or misguided protector, have the power to smite an entire army with but a wave of your hand. I realize there is nothing I might do to save myself from you, if you choose to spite me rather than to keep me in your graces. I offer you the only thing I have, my service. Body and soul, I hand myself to you, in request that you only grant me one thing in return.”  
“I do not make deals,” she answered coldly, brushing her golden braid over her shoulder, "Yet I will hear you out.”  
“Spare my family. You may do what you wish with me, whether that be to draw out my lifeblood, as you have with my fellow soldiers, or torture me, I will accept it. I simply ask that you spare my wife and daughter, who is not yet a year old.”  
“You are far too young to have a family,” was all she replied with, shaking her head a little, "And as I said, I do not make deals, though I have nothing against you and your family, no prejudice nor rivalry. I will not guarantee you the safety of your family, for if they step out of line, as your brothers at your feet did, I will not hesitate to send them down to the fires below. I do not wish your servitude. If I wanted that, would I not have taken only a few lives and warned the others to submit or join them? No, I wanted a witness, or else I would have stopped your beating heart. You are to go out, to whatever town or port you see fit and spread the word of my terror, my wrath. I want them to know, every man that breaths and every divide that spreads war, that I have enough power to end them all. Every last one. It is by my mercy that I allow them to live after what they did to my people. That is the greatest mercy I will show them. Not returning the favor and wiping away their people as they did mine.”  
The man stuttered, shaken to the core by the sight of a creature so powerful, yet so fair. Her words scared him. He did not know how to respond to so high a creature when he himself was so lowly.  
"I understand,” he finally answered with trembling voice, "I understand.”  
Then his hand fell to his sword. Drawing it from its sheath, he stabbed it into the ground in front of him.  
"I offer this to you, though I fear I lack in the splendor you possess and the strength of your apprentice. Yet still, for whatever it may be worth to you, I offer it to you. Do what you will with my life, spend it as you see fit. I will serve you, for seem so much more than I, and so much greater than the divides. I want to serve you, if you will have me, that I might be a part, though a small part indeed, of your reign, when you establish it.”  
“A reign? That is what you believe I want?"  
“I assume so, as you are a Dendä, are you not? Are you not trying restore the order of old? Where the Dendä reign supreme above men?" he inquired.  
“That is all you believe I desire? Power? I already have more power than a mere mortal such as yourself could ever fathom! You know nothing of the vastness of my power, nor the greatness of my wrath. No, it is hardly power that I seek. I am here to restore the peace, not the orders of old. I care nothing for vast halls and loyal subjects. I only seek one thing, the one thing I am lacking. The thing from which I was torn.”  
“You have such power, yet you are unable to achieve the one thing you seek? Why do you fail to reclaim what is obviously so rightfully yours?" he asked, failing to understand she would never reveal any more than she wanted him to know.  
“Alas, judgement has been passed upon me by those who granted me this power. Until I restore the peace, or else make atonement for the deeds they consider misdeeds, I will not be given the comfort of that which I seek. I have been tasked to rebuild this broken peace, and that is what I now do.”  
“I mean no disrespect, not to someone as great and might as yourself, but how is peace to be rebuilt when you have lain an entire army to rest with the wave of your hand?"  
“That is where you come in, my lowly servant,” she answered with a hint of glee behind her cold mask, "For you have seen the terror which I can wreak upon those who oppose me. I have shown you what vengeance looks like. You have vowed your service to me, so I bestow upon you this task. Go out to the lands and the villages, and tell them of my wickedness, my wrath.”  
“And whose wrath shall I tell them to fear?"  
“Tell them to fear that of Chalandra,” she hissed, her twisted smile reappearing once more.  
“Chalandra, my new mistress to whom I have sworn loyalty. I must ask, for you are young and fair, why do you bring this fate upon yourself, that of just fear from the world of men?" he finally asked, confused by her desires.  
“I have answered enough of your pointless and petty questions,” she replied, waving her hand, "Go now, and do as I say, or you shall end just as all your kin have.”  
“No, no!" he exclaimed, grabbing his sword back from the earth before him, "I will go! Please, spare me.”  
“Go!" she demanded, pointing towards the village to the east of the base, "Go now before I change my mind!"  
Immediately the man jumped to his feet and sheathed his sword. Panicked, he began to run. He knew already that the woman's threats were not ideal, but that she would smite him if he tried her patience. In his flight, he tripped over a tree root, but regaining his footing quickly out of blind fear from the woman. When the man was out of sight, Tarre turned to his mistress with concern. "My lady, why is it that you wish the lands of men to fear you? They rightly should, but you did not need to send someone out to preach of your wrath. You do not need anyone to fear you.”  
“You believe that because you are closer to me than some man I spared from death that I will answer your questions?" she challenged, being obtaining as usual.  
“You know as well as I that this is true. I am your apprentice, though I do not yet understand why you took me in over any other. I am grateful, do not mistake me. Yet I know there is a reason, even if you do not share it with me. Inasmuch, I know you will not harm me. Furthermore, I believe you would in fact share your plans with your trusted follower.”  
“I want them to fear me,” she admitted.  
“But why, my lady? You must have a reason for it. You are greater than wishing for peasants simple, blind fear. So what to you obtain from fear?"  
“I am supposed to bring peace, am I not? Fear is very powerful in creating compliance, which is what I need right now. You may not see it as ideal peace, but it is peace nonetheless. In time, they might try to overthrow me, or lead some suicidal march against me, but I am powerful enough to prevent any real damage from falling upon either of our heads. So do you not see? Fear, fear of me, will keep them in line. If they are afraid of me, they are far more likely to obey me, which is currently exactly what I need.”  
She was so cold, so devoid of emotion, that it terrified him. Her smile finally fading, she turned away, her black dress trailing behind her. She had worn a black dress and cloak that night, knowing before she greeted the men that she would have to do no more than raise her hand.  
“My lady, this is not you,” he pleaded again, though his words fell on deaf ears, "This is not the woman I know, nor the one to whom I pledged my loyalty.”  
For a moment, Chalandra paused. She took a deep breath, then continued walking away.  
"You are right, it is not,” she answered, her voice dripping with hate and spite.  
Yet in her heart, she cried out, begging for reprieve from her living hell. No other life could have been worse, no other fate more painful. She longed to feel Thane's touch again, to see his gentle, kind face, yet she could not. And because of that, her heart had turned to ice.  
Had she been stronger. Had she been more just. Had she been more fair and shown mercy on those who had wronged her, just as she had been forgiven for her wrongs, she would not be here. That would have never been her fate. This living hell was never meant to be her destiny. She was meant to be Thane's wife, standing now by his side, meek and humble even, waiting for him to return home from whatever work he had taken up. She was meant to stand by the windowsill, looking out and waiting. Watching for her husband's return as the sky started to paint a picture of blood red and orange flame. She was meant to stand on the porch of their home, all candles extinguished, no light save that from the sky. Only the song of the crickets and the night larks to break the silence as the pale light miles away shone overhead, her husband holding her hand in his.  
Yet here she was, wherever her path taking her, leaving behind nothing but dark and Icy roses. In her wake, flowers bent, fearing for their lives. The ground beneath her trembled in fear, the grass lining her path turned to ash. The people around her, they paled. They died. She struck them down with her fury, as great and as quick as the storm. Those in her wake, they never stood a chance to draw another breath. For lightning struck where she walked. The sky darkened around her. For she was young and beautiful, yet she clothed herself in a black dress, cloak, and veil. So few ever saw her face and lived. For this was her destiny. This was her path. This was her fate. To walk alone, along a trail of ash, with roses turned to ice on either side. She did not belong to the light. She belonged to the dark, no matter what anyone else ever believed.

Tarre stood still as she walked away, afraid to follow her. She was touched by the darkness, as he had never seen her before. Shadows surrounded her. She was wreathed in black. Yet he knew now that it was his duty to pull her from the darkness. Running after her, he caught up to her side and glanced upon her pale, stern face.  
“They may truly deserve this, but is it what Thane would want? Would he want you to have become this way, so hard of heart and merciless simply because you were forced to be parted? Would he approve of your actions?" he asked, knowing if anything could pull her back from the darkness, it was fear of losing her beloved, "Would he even want you this way?"  
Chalandra froze. For a moment, her heart stopped beating. Inhaling sharply, she tried to force herself to remain stolid. Yet he was right. Thane would not want her this way. He would never want her this way. He would never have desired this for her. This was the very thing he had nearly sacrificed himself for all those years ago, to keep her from becoming this way. From becoming a monster. From falling victim to the dark. For the light had been banished from her, no matter how much she struggled to deny it. She answered to it now, no matter how much she tried to fight it.  
Tarre was right. Thane did not wish this to be her path, he had gone to such great lengths to prevent it, as he had seen the potential for darkness in her. He loved the light in her, not the darkness. He would never take her back if she was fallen. If she had been claimed by the shadows. This was not a woman he would accept. Not a woman he would desire. He would cast her away should she appear on his doorstep, begging for his aid. He would send her away, back into the forest from whence she came. This was not the person he remembered, nor the woman he would stand by through life and death, nor could she be.  
Finally, she let breath return to her body once more. The crisp night air, tainted with the smell of blood, filled her lungs once more.  
"Perhaps not, but he is not here,” she answered, pulling her cloak's hood over her head and continuing on her way.  
Yet no matter how much she wished to simply banish his words, he was right. She simply could not yet bring herself to admit to her wrongs. So instead, she shut him, out, his further pleas falling on deaf ears as she tossed Greyfer's reins over his head and swung up onto his back. The horse was growing restless as the night lingered, feeling death on the air. He did not want to remain in this place. He wanted to leave. Somehow, even the horse knew it was his mistress's actions that had caused the smell of death to swell.  
Yet still, he accepted her as a rider upon his broad back, willing to carry her though he could feel the evil around her. With just the touch of her heels, he sprang forward, knowing he had a long ride ahead of him. They were far from other civilization, as the divide had wanted to remain untouched and unnoticed by unsuspecting villagers.

As the dust settled, Tarre stood, still unmoving. He had tried his best for his mistress, yet he had failed her. She had left him behind, and rightly so. He had spoken against her, though he knew it was for her own good. When she was in such a state, she did not like to be questioned. He should have waited till morn, as she would have been far more likely to hear him out. But he had seen the dark in her. He had to stop it.


	17. Repaid

In the dank of the cell, Thane hung, still strong when other men would have failed. He waited, in the dark, for days upon end. They had never left him alone for so long, yet now they seemed to have forgotten their prisoner. There had been no light to break the dark, yet he did not find despair. He was let be, no longer tormented by their endless questions, probing for information he did not have. Instead, he was left in solitude to reflect on the losses he had suffered. Whenever they had come in, they had brought the memory of his fiancée back to the surface, throwing salt in his wounds and forcing him to face his deficits.  
Hearing footsteps in the hallway for the first time in four days, he straightened himself up as best he could, though standing erect was near impossible in the restricted manner he was chained. In the lock, he heard the jangle of keys, followed by the scraping of metal as the door was opened. Light flooded in, causing him to shut his eyes against the glare. When he looked back, a young man was coming towards him. Though his eyesight was hardly adjusted to the brightness, he could see the man was shaken, afraid by something. He was sweating heavily, and rushed towards Thane, keys in hand. Without a word, he began to unlock Thane’s shackles, letting him down. Thane clutched at his raw wrists, barely able to touch them as raw as they were. Unsure, he looked at the man.  
“What are you doing?”  
“I cannot continue to live in this fear. I hope that in freeing you, I might gain favor.”  
“I doubt favor is what will be earned in letting a prisoner go free. I believe a noose might be more accurate,” Thane answered, grateful for his assistance, yet unwilling to risk another man’s life on the account of a man with an empty life.  
“It is not their favor I seek,” he responded, wide-eyes with fright. “But what do you care? I am giving you your freedom. Get out while you can.”  
“Who’s favor would be worth such a risk?”  
“The women in black. I saw her terror. She let me alone go free. I was to tell the other divides of her terror, but first, I must ensure I have something that will set me apart, so that I might not meet the same fate,” he replied, obviously shaken.  
“Now go,” he commanded, pointing towards the open door, “I shall have nothing more to do with you.”  
His strength had not yet failed, for he was a strong man without need of food and water. He departed, dashing towards the door and not hesitating until he breathed the clean air outdoors. The night was fresh, and the outdoor air purified his body, ridding his lungs of the musk and damp from below. Whatever had happened, he did not care. It was likely the same who had slaughtered all in the village, for a particular Dendä seemed to be on a vendetta against the land of men.

The night was dark, a blessing for those attempting the impossible. To take into their possession the apprentice of the one who stood against them. The only one who dared to challenge them, but the only one who had information about their beloved, coveted treasure. For though the Rasonphel divide had been destroyed, the Yewflowers had not. Now that word of their rival’s demise had reached them, they leapt at the opportunity to gain control over her. They did not believe the rumors, that she had felled them all with a wave of her hand. For if they did, they would not attempt such folly. Yet, in their ignorance, they failed to heed the rumors. So they made their move.  
In the absence of the moon, they were able to move closer, stalk their victim. His mistress had gone ahead, leaving him to secure a place for the horses. He dropped the coins into the man’s hand, nodding to him as he turned away. The street was empty, yet he heard the scuffle of feet behind as he made his way back to the inn. Glancing back again, he saw nothing but dirt road between the buildings. Still, he let his hand fall on his sword, concealed beneath his cloak. As he rounded the corner towards the place they were staying, he felt a hand clap around his mouth, and several more pull him to the ground. He struggled with them for a moment, trying in vain to free himself. Three men fought to keep him down, and though he was a warrior, he was outmatched, having been taken by surprise. His training was good, yet it was not enough so in this case. A heavy blow with the hilt of a sword to his temple rendered him unconscious, leaving him nothing but a limp heap in the arms of his attackers. Before he could wake, they bound his hands and feet tightly, ensuring there would be no ill-conceived attempts to escape. He was their prisoner, and now, his mistress would pay.  
He would not be used as leverage, for the Yewflowers had long since given up the idea that she could be controlled. Though they had little interaction with her, they believed she would never be contained. Instead, they simply desired to send a message, and a stark one at that. He would not be a hostage, he would be a sacrifice. The Yewflower divide had taken to the ways of pagan worship, their favorite ritual being the spilling and burning of the blood of their enemies. They sacrificed them to Gesfel, hoping to please him and that in their victim’s charred blood they would discover a map to the treasure. Yet, despite their fervent hopes, they had yet to find anything of meaning in the boiled and singed blood. Tarre and his mistress had known of their tendencies, and had done their best to avoid them, yet now, he was going to be a victim of the same fate. Perhaps in the sacrifice of Chalandra’s only apprentice they would not only spite the master, but would be given the favor of Gesfel, for Tarre was the favorite of Gesfel’s most grave enemy, that much they knew for certain.


	18. Blood Spilled

Two Weeks  
The joyous jeers and cries of the crowd filled his ears as he was forced to walk before his guard. His hands were bound; his feet, shackled. As he walked amidst the shouts and cheers of the men, his head drooped. He knew the place of his fate. Behind him, the guard smacked the back of his head once, just for amusement. Immediately, he faltered and stumbled down before his keeper. As he was bound, he fell forward partly onto his knees, but his face also hit the ground, leaving a slowly reddening scrape across his forehead. Weak from his abuse, he drew himself to his feet again and carried on.  
Before him was the chest. The chest where his life was to be let out. He knew, from the moment he had been captured, what his fate was going to be. The trough was low enough that on his knees, his head would easily reach over it. From the higher sides where he would stand, it slowly extended down in either direction until the black marble became part of the ground. On either side of the trough where he would stand were two small bowls of fire to illuminate his face. The bowls would soon be poured into the trough, two bowls of flaming oil. They meant to burn his blood as they had with so many before.  
Even as he walked up the cold black marble steps, Tarre kept his peace. He had dedicated his life to Chalandra, and now would die doing her will. She had needed all the information he had managed to give her, but he had been foolish enough to of been caught. This was not her fault, he was his. To the end, he would hold his dignity and his peace.  
He now stood behind the basin. It was an alter. An altar to sacrifice those who defied the divide. Stepping forward with a clean, sharp knife, one of the men grinned at him. His teeth were rotting and his robes were filled with greasy food. He signaled to the guard, who then poured the two bowls of flaming oil into the black marble altar. The guard placed the two bowls aside, then the man with rotting teeth stepped forward. Tarre closed his eyes and envisioned his past with Chalandra. The kind of love one feels for their leader. Their first meeting, her taking him on as an apprentice, their training, her trust in him. As he felt the cold of the knife press against his throat, he kept his eyes sealed shut. The crowd before him roared, though he heard not a sound. Not seconds later, he became lightheaded and opened his eyes to see his scarlet blood dripping down the front of his clothes.  
Falling to his knees out of weakness, he leaned over the flaming black marble, letting his blood burn as it poured out his slowly dying body. He gasped for air, trying to overcome the dizzying sensation of his blood being drained from his body. He could feel it running down his neck, his lifeblood. This was to be his end, watching his crimson blood pour out of his throat, waiting for death to come before a crowd that celebrated his death. The death of a follower of Chalandra.  
Drawing a deep breath which he was sure was his last, his blurry gaze shifted out over the crowd, as far as it could while the soldier behind him forced his head down over the basin. At the edge of the crowd, hidden in the woods, she stood. His mistress. Cloaked with her black cape, robed in black dress, she came to watch the death of her apprentice. To comfort him as he parted from the earth. She did not move to stop it, she simply stood, her veil pulled back from her face, yet left her hood up, watching.  
Her face was stern. She did not shed a tear, yet some form of sorrow, or however it was she mourned, plagued her fair face. Though his sight was fading, he was able to make her out clearly. The pale skin of his mistress's face and hands standing in stark juxtaposition to the shadow-robed woods. No one noticed her, for she could always pass unnoticed if she wished.  
He coughed, knowing now that he was at the end of his strength. Though he had resolved to pass bravely, pass like a warrior, he felt a tremble pass through his body. A shiver. It was both fear and coldness, for he knew already that this was his end. Chalandra simply raised her right hand, and lay it across her heart. She saluted him. And that was the final thing he saw before darkness took him. The mistress saluting her loyal servant, one who had been foolishly caught on a scouting venture in hopes of gathering information on the Yewflower divide.

When the thrill of the kill has passed, and the crowds had dispersed, she walked alone across the former aisleway. Tarre's body had been left. They wanted it to be picked at by the birds. Soon, they would hang it on their gate, signifying their great power. They had slaughtered one of Chalandra's apprentices. There could be no greater victory than the death of the women herself.  
Without a sound, she strode barefoot over the grass, damp with the nighttime dew. As she reached the black marble steps, she paused. They had dared to take away the only other person she loved on this earth. They thought it would be a warning to her, some sign to scare her away. Yet she would not be frightened so easily. She would take their sign, their tribute to victory, and throw it in their face. For she would not be outdone.  
Slowly, lifting the bottom of her black skirt, she ascended the steps to the altar. She shivered at little at the coldness of the marble, causing her to curl her toes. Making her way around the basin, she shuddered at the sight of the charred, though still fresh scarlet blood which had come from Tarre's veins. Towards the edges of the basin, firelight still flickered, burning off the last of the oil and blood. With a wave of her hand, she extinguished the fire. The crackling sound as his blood boiled off unnerved her. The smell of iron, of fire and of death, it filled her lungs. It made her sick.  
Tarre lay on the backside of the basin, having been left where he dropped. He lay on his side, his hands still bound, forcing his arms behind his back even as he lay in death. His eyes were now closed, but his mouth was open. Overcome by grief and guilt, she knelt down by his side, brushing his long black locks to the side, out of his face. There were no tears on his face. He was brave, so brave. He had always been strong, far stronger than she. No matter what he believed she could never match his courage. He had walked to his death without fear, without hate, without protest. He had not attempted to escape his fate, he simply faced it with honor. They had beaten him, repeatedly, prior to his death, yet he still did not scorn his captors. He had died without fear. Without hate. She would have slaughtered them all, not stood silent like he had, like a lamb. He did not open his mouth to protest. Even when he stood before the jeering crowd, he had not begged for mercy, as he truly believed this was his duty. To die for his wrongs, though he himself was blameless. He always faulted himself for her wrongs, as he believed it was his fault for not being able to pull her back from the darkness. Yet her fault was simply her own, though he had died because of her shortcomings.  
Taking a knife from her boot, she cut free his bonds. Bowing her head and closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly as she returned the knife to its rightful place. Placing her hand on his head, she took another deep, slow breath.  
"Come back to me,” she muttered softly.  
She should have saved him from this fate. It was no fault but her own that he was here, that he had died. She could have saved him before his death, but in doing so, she would have fallen victim to her own wrath once more. So she had let him die, if only to allow his memory, his will, to be preserved.  
Yet there was yet a way to save him. Her power. She had finally chosen right, to allow her apprentice, whom she dearly loved, to suffer so that his will might be fulfilled. But she would not let him die for her sake. Too much blood had been shed on her account, far too much. No more, no longer. Not for her sake. Not on her account. No more, starting with him.  
Not a moment passed until he sat straight up, gasping for air.  
"My lady?" he asked, breathless.  
“I am here, Tarre. There is no need to be afraid,” she comforted, smiling at the sight his breath returning.  
Gently, she placed a hand on his back, helping him to recover.  
“But Chalandra, I do not understand. I died, did I not?" he asked shakily, still struggling to regain his breath.  
“Yes, yes, you did.”  
“Then how?" he muttered, his entire body shaking as he tried to recover his bearings and fill his body with breath again.  
“You know I have great power, Tarre. I may not have had power this great before, or at least known I did, but I suspected it. I was not going to leave you do die.”  
“You have let so many others die, why not I as well?'  
“Do you not see? I care for you,” she answered, a little sharply, "Do you understand that?"  
“Yet you never heed me. You never listen to my pleas. Surely if you truly cared for me, you would.”  
“I admit I have not always been right in my actions. I have acted extremely rashly and unjustly. I have killed. I know this. I have shed innocent blood without a second thought no matter how you might try to reason with me.”  
“Then why do you care whether I breath or not? You do not heed my pleas, so what does it matter to you?"  
“You have not seen it, as I have hidden it from you, but I clung to your every word, trying to free myself from my own darkness,” she answered, placing her other hand on his shoulder. "You are the only one I have left. Thane, I care for him deeply, but he does not even know I live. He believes me dead. You are the only one I have for support.”  
“Why now? Why do you claim to have been freed from the darkness?" he inquired, unsure about her so-called transformation.  
“Not the darkness, Tarre. My darkness. I realize now more than ever, I am not light. Thane always swore I was light. He called me Beautiful Light, for he truly believed that was what I was. But he was wrong. In this, and likely only this, he was so wrong. I am not light, nor am I dark. I am both. Others, like Thane, like you, they belong to the light. I believe everyone does, at least at first. Some, perhaps like Gesfel, they are born dark. But most, I think, become dark. Yet I was not born that way. I was born both light and dark. For light could not contain dark as great as Gesfel, only dark and light together could. Now, I may have fallen victim to the dark, but it was only my own darkness. And it was only my own failure.”  
“But why do you say you care for me?"  
“What do you mean?"  
“You claim to want me by your side, that you care for me, but you have never acted that way before. You taught me actions are far greater than words, that my actions, particularly if they support my promises, are far more valuable than empty promises with nothing behind them. Just as you say you care for me, yet nothing you have done supports that. You do not heed my pleas, nor do you seem to care, until now whether I live or die.”  
“I admit I have not always been the greatest example. As you say, I have not always lived by my words. At least, by these statements. You are entirely right, for I have not ever listened to your pleas, nor did I heed your warnings. I brushed you off as weak and senseless. But you are wrong. I have always cared for you, from the moment I met you. I never disregarded you, nor did I ever allow you to be put into true danger. I love you as my son, Tarre. No matter what I do, I am not going to let any harm come to you. And now, I am going to try to start keeping my darkness in check with my light.”  
“You are powerful enough, if only you choose. You just brought me back from the dead. Anyone with that much power can become anything they choose. You simply have to start making the choices of someone stronger.  
“Have I not already?" she asked, surprised.  
“Bringing me back was selfish. The world does not care whether I live or die, only you. That is not a start.”  
“But there was far more I could have done, but did not do. You understand I was livid that they had you captive, for they knew exactly who you were. This was done as pure insult to me, meant to enrage me. They clearly have taken my warnings before. If they fail to listen to this warning, to steer clear of me when I obviously can end their entire army with the wave of my hand, they may not take my more important ones. But I let them go. Do you not see, Tarre? I watched them kill you. I watched them burn your blood. I could have stepped into that aisleway and all would have fallen silent. I could have raised my hands and laid to waste their entire people. Yet I did not. It was only for your sake, because of your unwavering belief that I could be more, that I did not kill all of them. For I knew you would not want to be saved that way. At the expense of a people. You have honor, integrity. You see value where I see none. That is why I need you by my side. I feared I would lose you if I did something like that, so I let them go, for now.”


	19. Repentance

Out onto the water she walked, as though it was dry land. Beneath her feet, it rippled, but the sea stood calm. Not a single wave splashed onto her, but instead all was calm as far as the eye could see. Even the white dress she wore did not draw water, but remained dry even as it was exposed to the seawater. The further away from shore she drew, the stronger the wind became. In her ears was the gentle music of the universe as the planets hummed in rhythm, but it soon turned to a vengeful war chant; a battle cry echoing through the night.  
The wind threw up her hair, and sent her dress lashing out into the air. Now, a ways off of shore, she stopped. Letting out an ear piercing shriek, she let her arms come away from her sides, palm up and tense as though under great strain. Around her, the previously peaceful ocean lurked up high into the air, creating a wall all around her. For a moment, she let her hands extend above her head, but then threw them down with extreme force.  
Tarre soon returned to the seashore to see the great wall of water. The forceful wind brought the haunting cries of his mistress back to the shore. The sound of her lamenting filled his ears. Inside the great barrier of water, orange light began to glow with forceful magnitude. It bled through the water, showing a green hue to the liquid but losing none of its intensity.  
Inside her newfound isolation, Chalandra screamed again and again. The power of her hands did not cease to create the elements, first water, then air, followed by fire. All around her, the swirling water became intertwined with the glow and heat of flames. Breathless, she sank to her knees and began to weep. The fire soon dulled, and became replaced by ice. The passion of her hate replaced by the coldness of her heart. It longed to love again. Burying her face in her hands, she lamented her crimes, her fate, and her reality. If only one thing preyed on her heart, it was her separation from Thane. Nothing hurt her more deeply than her parting from him.  
Finally, breathing deeply and inhaling the cold now surrounding her, she stood. Her legs were weak, her knees shook as she rose. Her whole body trembled as she called upon more strength from her spent body. Exiting her cavern of ice, frozen in outreaching hands and beckoning icicles, she walked back across the water. On the shore, Tarre stood, waiting. He waded out to reach her, seeing she was weak. Once she reached the shallows, he reached out and grabbed her fair shoulder, helping her back towards shore as best he could. Leaning on him, she reached the sand and sank to the earth, gasping for air.  
Her white dress pooled around her; her wind-tossed golden hair framed around her face as she panted, sweat beading on her brow. She pressed her palms into the sand, struggling to recover. Tarre placed a hand on her shoulder, trying his best to comfort his mistress in her time of need.  
"My lady, is everything alright?" he asked timidly.  
Chasing away her tears with a sniffle and swallowing hard, she nodded.  
"I will be, soon, for I know what I must do,” she answered breathlessly.  
“You have never been spent before, are you hurt in anyway?"  
“No, no, I am fine. I have never spent so much power before.”  
“Surely that is not true. You are all-powerful. You have laid armies to waste with a wave of your hand, you surely do not mean that was the most power you have ever used?"  
“But it was. For if I am taking life, I create nothing. Instead, I destroy what is there. This was different. When I killed...,” she stuttered, her voice trembling, "When I killed, it was devoid of emotion. This was all emotion. I created more than any Dendä ever has out of nothing in just a few moments, and it fed off of my raw emotion.”  
“I fear I fail to understand what you mean by emotion.”  
She smiled a little in midst of her lament, then nodded and answered: "You still believe, that as all those books of old have told you, that you should keep your emotions ever in check. That you must not feel lest you should give you enemy a hold over you. But do you not see now that emotions are more powerful, more raw energy, than anything else in the world? Yet since you have not yet seen it, experienced, it, I will explain it to you. That was my pain, Tarre. All my pain.”  
“How do you mean pain, my lady?" he asked.  
“It was the agony of my separation. You asked me once if I believed I needed a man to complete me, and I very rightly said no. I never have believed that. I need no one, but I desire someone. If it were not for Thane, I would desire no one, and need no one. But I love him, and I want to be reunited with him. I do not need him to complete me, but I long to be by his side again. And that separation created pain. Deep, agonizing, pain. And furthermore, I can see now. I can see and understand what I have done, that I have done great wrong. Wrongs that I will never be able to right, yet that I must fervently try to correct if I ever desire to be accepted by Thane, or to even be permitted to return to his side. But now, I know what I must do.”


	20. Stirrings of Peace

She sent word to the leader of Bordea, saying she wanted to meet with Grensenfal, for she had information about the treasure they sought. Her proposal was eagerly accepted, and so with her she took Tarre. Already, she knew her truth would not be easily accepted, but it was necessary. She had finally realized the truth about the treasure and what it contained. It had to be protected at all costs, for she did not want to see her world turn to ash. For naught could come of the treasure but gristly, gruesome war ended in nothing but destruction.

Together, they ascended up the marble stairs. As beautiful as the courtyard was, they both knew of the dangers that lay inside. So much deceit, so many lies. The outside facade that made that place seem beautiful, but was only more deadly than they could imagine. So many lambs led to the slaughter.  
A man standing outside the great door called for it to be opened and the two let in. Down the hall and to a large room filled with a great variety of foods he led them. Then, he proceeded to leave them alone, closing the door as he exited. Tarre looked at Chalandra, obviously uncomfortable.  
"What is the matter?" she asked him, noticing his uneasiness.  
“I do not know how to act, or to behave in this situation,” he answered, his tone emotionless and flat as usual.  
“Which is why you are here today. I can easily handle this myself, but you are learning,” she comforted, her voice gentle to him.  
Only a moment later, Grensenfal entered, a great many servants following in his wake. The heavy man sat at the head of the table, and looked over his two guests who stood before him.  
"Who are you?" he questioned, disgusted.  
“This is the Lady Chalandra, and I am her apprentice, Tarre.”  
“You are a woman?" he mocked.  
“Yes, yes I am. Did you expect a man?" she pressed, unhappy with his commentary.  
“I did,” he scoffed. "What do you, a woman, expect to accomplish in my domain? You surely are not the one hoping for peace.”  
“Do you judge me by your standards? Do you not believe that a woman can be strong, or brave, in this man's world you have created?" she shot back, though she kept her tone and anger in check.  
“No, I do not believe a woman can be smart, admirable, or courageous. It is not their nature. You are dismissed from my court,” he demanded with a wave of his chubby hand.  
Immediately, Chalandra reacted. Not only did she motion for Tarre to holster his own anger, but she drew out one of her throwing knives and launched it through the air. It buried itself in front of the man, stabbed deep into the wood of the table. An outraged and surprised Grensenfal tried to remove the knife from the wood, only to find it was too firmly lodged.  
"Consider that a warning for the strength of women. Now, am I acceptable to you as an equal?" she asked.  
After mumbling something under his breath, the servants withdrew. Chalandra stepped forward to the table and pulled her knife out, as though removing it from soft ground. The man glanced to Tarre.  
"I would not even dream of that,” she laughed, "Thinking you can get to me by capturing my apprentice.”  
“What? So you believe I am not capable?" the man asked slyly.  
Immediately, two men grabbed Tarre and tried to pull him to the floor and bind him, only to be shoved off by the larger man. He pushed one to the floor and threw the other against the wall, pulling out one of his fighting knives and holding it against the man’s throat. Once he was satisfied that they were not going to try anything else, he let the man go, for Grensenfal waved them off.  
“No, I just would have a hard time believing you are that uneducated. I only take the best. Tarre has no weaknesses.”  
“Are you so prideful to think you cannot be bested?”  
“No, it is not that. It is not that at all.”  
Tarre tapped her shoulder and whispered to her: “This not why we have come. Do not provoke him or I fear this meeting will be in vain.”  
Chalandra nodded slightly, for she knew he was right. If she was to move beyond this hate, this rage, and establish a peace, she would have to show mercy. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm a bit, if only for just long enough to bring herself the reward she truly needed.  
“But alas, that is not why we have come. We have come to discuss the peace, and the peace we shall discuss.”  
“What do you think you have to offer me which I cannot obtain for myself.”  
“I have already proven myself with other divides. I know you have heard the rumors and know what I can do to your people. I will stay my hand, and I will ensure the divide war ends, but I have one stipulation.”  
“What is that?” he inquired, a bit curious.  
Unlike the other divide leaders, he saw no good emerge from the war. Yet, he likewise was too proud and stubborn to surrender. But, if an agreement could be made, that would be acceptable. More than that, it would be ideal. The fighting would stop and peace could be made. By now, it seemed as though the treasure was nothing more than a myth, so if this was to bring a peace, he would agree.  
“You forget the treasure. I have already spoken with Yewflower, and with Grenyett, they will agree to do the same, if you likewise agree. Together, you will cease to fight, and cease to search.”  
“I can agree to that, but how am I to know you are true to your word.”  
“I was sent here to bring peace and peace I wish to bring. I have grown tired of your petulant squabbles, and find it quite time to bring a peace. Therefor, with your word, the war will end. Further, I do not wish for you to search for the treasure as it is not all it seems. With your command, the bloodshed with be over. What say you?”  
“Alright.”  
And he was true to his word. That day, messengers were dispatched to each of the remaining divides, and the terms were agreed to. That was the start of the peace. A peace that was perhaps shallow, for they had agreed in order to save themselves from the same fate as the Rasonphel divide, but that was a peace nonetheless. Chalandra and Tarre departed from that place, Chalandra internally feeling as though it was too easy. She was right, for the remnants Yewflower divide did not cease the search, but instead did it far more discreetly.


	21. Sacrifices

In the fire crackled, the only thing that broke the nighttime silence. Even the crickets were still. Only the orange light that flickered on the faces of the two travelers remained for light. They sat across from one another, but said very little. There was something different about his mistress tonight. She was quiet, still, and deep in thought. Usually, she spoke with him, or went to bed early. Yet tonight was different. She stared into the fire, speechless. Her eyes did not move from the smoldering logs, though Tarre watched her intently.  
"You are quiet tonight, my lady.”  
It took her a moment to reply, but when she did, it was delayed and distant.  
"Am I? I suppose I am,” she muttered in response.  
“Is everything alright?"  
“I suppose it is.”  
“We had a great victory today. That usually puts you in good spirits,” he mentioned.  
“What victory?" she asked, as though she did not remember bringing about the peace.  
Finally, her gaze shifted to her apprentice.  
“My lady, this is very unlike you. What has changed?"  
“I am done with it, with this life. I did not want it, I never did. I only become the way I did because I hated what I was sentenced with. My life was worth twenty years. Two decades alone, but I get to live. Instead of being dead forever, I am alive forever, and the price was this solitude. But even that sentence was my fault. Had I not slain in cold blood, had I offered forgiveness, I would have him now. I would be free, rather than bonded to my fate.”  
“Have who?"  
“Who do you think? Who other than Thane? " she sighed, her words filled with pain and grief, "Yet even now, that wavers, for I do not know how I could be content to be a mere wife. I want to see him, I know that, but I do not know how things could ever go back to the way they were. Besides, I could end up with another twenty years of servitude for my crimes. I have done a lot of things I am not proud of.”  
“Who is it that sentences you? I believe they know all the right you have done. Your punishment was self-inflicted, and I believe you understand now what you did not before.”  
“You believe my punishment was self-inflicted? No, no,” she replied, "It was not, but you must understand, I can see things, the future, in dreams, sometimes. Any guidance that I need, can be found in the mysterious ways of sleep. I was told, what my future was if I ran to him. He would have been killed. I could never let that happen. It would tear me apart.  
“You did well, my lady. I do not desire to point out the sins of our past, but you are different now, in a good way. You have changed, and have become the woman you were meant to be.”  
“I know. I understand my punishment now. I know what I had to do. I had to make the peace. The peace has been restored, and not through violence of the blade. Now, I can go. I am free, for my journey is done. It was never what I thought my destiny was, yet it is fulfilled nonetheless.”  
“You act as though you are leaving. Where is it that you are going?” he inquired, concerned that she was leaving him.  
“Home,” she answered, smiling slightly and taking in a deep breath of the night air, “I am going home, whether to find peace or more restlessness, I am going home.”  
“Where is home? For as far as I recall, you have no home, same as I.”  
“A home can be many things, at least in my opinion,” she answered, her gaze meeting his  
Her emerald eyes sparkled as she spoke, reflecting the full moon above and the light within.  
“You are leaving then?”  
“It is time”  
“How can it be time? The peace is barely established, and very unstable at that. The smallest thing could set off the war again. Though it may not be open war, it is war between the divides, and people die. You cannot leave yet, for they still need you to guide them,” Tarre protested, petrified at the thought of losing his mistress.  
“The peace is shaky, that I do not deny. You are correct, something could set them off again, and the next war may not be a mere underground territory battle between half-trained armies, but open war may spread over the lands once more. I realize then that you understand the severity of the consequences?”  
“I do, my lady. It is not out of selfishness that I ask you remain here, but for the people. I know you, as much as I, do not wish to see innocent lives lost in the crossfire, nor people dragged into such an act.”  
“Then I can trust you,” she replied, nodding, “I can trust you to take up my role.”  
“What?” he asked, astounded.  
“I can trust you to become the peacekeeper, to take up my duty and maintain the peace we have created.”  
“I mean no disrespect, I truly do not, but I could never hold the peace as you do, nor am I ready to take on such a burden.”  
“Yet you are, though you do not see it. I have trained you as much as I am able, so now you must take my role. You will bear my burden and become the one who keeps the peace.”  
“I am not prepared. You have trained me well, but I am not ready for this. I cannot hold so many lives in my hands.”  
“You already do, though you may not realize it. We established this peace together. If not for you, this would not have come to pass. You are just as much responsible for it as I am. If you cannot see that, I pity you, but you must understand you were. You now can take on my duty and fulfil it just as well as I could. You are ready. I have trained you in my image, and I will still be there, simply not actively. Anytime you need assistance, or my advice, I will be there. I simply will not travel and meet with them as we were doing. That will be your task.”  
“Are you certain I am ready for this?” he inquired, knowing she was far wiser than he, but also wary that she was overestimating his skills.  
“I am,” she answered firmly, smiling, “I would not leave you if I was not. You are ready for this. You cannot progress your skills any further with me so close by your side, you must go out on your own.”  
“Then I thank you for your trust in me. I pray it will not be misplaced.”  
“I know it will not,” she assured him, standing and looking to the east, “I will be in the town of Berel. Give me a few hours, at least, before you follow, for there is something I need to attend to.”  
Taking a deep breath, she kissed him on the top of his head and departed into the night without a sound.


	22. Hope Rekindled

It had been twenty years since she died, to the day. Thane, having been so consumed by grief that he failed to so much as eat, lay on his bed, his hands tucked under his head as he looked up to the ceiling. His mind was filled with her image. If only she had not been slaughtered before her time. By now, they would have been married, living happily together in each other's company. He just needed her, more than anything else in the world. Without her, he was lost.  
From where he lay, his mind lost in his dreams, he could not see the door. However, he heard it creak open, and the light footsteps of someone passing through. Behind them, he heard the door be closed, and locked. He barely moved, his mind still engulfed with thoughts of the woman he was robbed of. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Finally, taking a deep breath, be spoke to the intruder.  
"If you are a common thief, come to rob me, I have nothing of value, but whatever you want, you may take, I will not stop you. If you have come to cut my throat whilst I sleep, I will not protest. There is nothing left for me in this world, so death would be a mercy. No one will mourn me, as I have no one to care for me or love me left.”  
The intruder was silent, save for the rustle of clothing as they presumably dropped a cloak on the floor.  
"You are mistaken, surely, for I care for you,” came a woman's voice as she stepped into the moonlight.  
Forcing himself to look, though he knew it could not be true, he found himself looking into the emerald eyes of Chalandra. He jumped out of his bed, sitting on the edge.  
“Surely this is a dream,” he said with disbelief, fearing it was some illusion.  
“No, this is no dream,” she answered, smiling to him.  
Instantly, she was in his arms. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, never to let her go. He could not ever let her go again. Not in his life. Burying his face in her hair, he sucked in her smell. The single tear was replaced by a multitude of joyful tears, from both. Chalandra wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. For a long moment, he simply held her, one arm around her neck, the other firmly around her waist. Slowly, careful not to release his hold on her, he moved his hands to her face, and held it safe in his hands, pressing his lips to hers. She returned his kiss, closing her eyes and savoring every moment. Slowly, he moved her towards the bed. She lay back without hesitation, and as she did, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. And she was safe.  
Thane kissed her, barely giving her time to gasp for breath. She did not protest, nor did she back away in an attempt to avoid him. She returned every kiss with equal and surpassing passion, having been deprived of his affection for far too long. His hands grabbed onto her sides, as though trying to ensure she was not some dream. It was hard to imagine that she was home, back in his arms. The inn, it may not have been their home, but wherever each other were, that was their home. And in this moment, it was very much their home.

Later in the evening, when the lull of sleep became too powerful, they lay side by side. Thane wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head against his chest, against his heart. There she was. After so many long, lonely, depressed, sorrow-filled years. He would never, never, let her go again. The woman who had died. She lay before him now. The sleeping body, filled with peace. The woman who filled him with peace. All the restless years, the years of searching for meaning and relief, they disappeared. At the very sight of her, his heart was healed. He needed no explanation, he needed no words. All he needed was her. And she was here again.  
There she lay, on the sheets, against the wall of the small inn. Carefully, so not to wake her, he pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. The icy winter air could not harm her, but he nevertheless cared enough to keep her safe. Before he withdrew his hand, he placed his rough hand under her delicate chin, pressing his thumb to her chin. So beautiful. So perfect. Like the fallen angel that she was. Perfect, delicate, but sent back from the land of the dead. It was as though she was a shrine, something that it was wrong to touch.  
Yet after all this time, all these years, she was home. She had returned to him. He was complete. He could be happy again. He could be whole again. She was his, all over again. It did not matter that years had passed, they were together, just as they were meant to be.

When Tarre finally found out where Chalandra had gone that night, he ran to the inn, desperate to find her. After speaking to the innkeeper, he realized the situation. Then, he stayed in the last empty room for the night, wanting to be close to his mistress, but leave her alone with her long-lost love. As usual, he woke early that morning, but waited, out of respect, to visit Chalandra. Two hours after the sun rose, he found himself walking down the hall and knocking on their door.  
Surprised by the sound, Thane jumped up out of bed, waking Chalandra. For a brief moment, she was startled before realizing the situation.  
“It is my apprentice, Tarre,” she explained.  
“Apprentice?” he inquired, furrowing his brow.  
They had not spent much time in idle chat, for he had been too in awe of her return to have asked many questions. They would have time for all that later.  
“I have been busy, you know,” she answered straightening up in bed and trying to untangle her hair as best she could.  
Finally, he walked across the room to answer the door. A tall, dark-haired man stood before him, his appearance and facial features firm and taught.  
"Good morning,” Thane greeted, unfamiliar with the man, but assuming it was in fact Tarre.  
“Good morning, sir,” the man replied, "Is the Lady Chalandra here?" he asked.  
“Yes, Chalandra is here. Do you wish to see her?" he questioned, though a bit reluctant to yield some of his time to another man.  
“Only if it is a possibility and not against her wishes,” Tarre answered respectfully.  
“Tarre, you can come in,” Chalandra called out from the bed.  
Thane stepped aside and opened the door wider, inviting him in.  
Upon seeing Chalandra in bed, he stepped back and turned the other way, facing away from her.  
“Tarre, it is alright, you can look at me. I am fully clothed,” she assured him.  
“How are you this morning, my lady?" he asked, slowly turning back around.  
“Better than words can ever describe,” she replied, her eyes landing on Thane.  
He smiled warmly and approached her bed. By the bedside, took her left hand. Gently, he caressed her soft skin, savoring the feeling of her touch. She was his again. Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it several times. Chalandra smiled, though it was a guarded smile, for though she was happy, and felt at home, she likewise felt as though she was restless. Restless after having been with him for a mere night.  
Tarre, unsure how to respond upon seeing the affectionate couple, awkwardly glanced about the room. Noticing there was neither blanket nor pillow on the floor, he realized they had shared a bed.  
"My lady, I cannot help but notice the absence of evidence from one of you sleeping on the floor. It is obvious you shared a room, but did you also share a bed?" he asked hesitantly.  
"I will admit to it Tarre, but I see no shame in such an act. We simply shared the bed, nothing more,” Chalandra recounted.  
“I would never Tarre, I tell you that in all truth. Not to any woman, but not to Chalandra above all others. She is a creature of more worth than any other I have ever met, and I would never harm her nor disgrace her in any way,” Thane promised, for he almost felt as though he needed to justify himself.  
Tarre glanced about the room, obviously confused.  
"Why do we not go get some breakfast now?" Thane suggested, still searching for a further explanation from Chalandra about Tarre.  
“Indeed,” Chalandra said, slipping out of bed.  
Again, Tarre turned away. She smiled, but said nothing. Instead, she simply grabbed her cloak from the night before and pulled it around her shoulders. Her dress was white, unlike most of her other clothes. The cloak had covered the entire dress, making it all appear black.  
“Are you coming?” she asked with a quirked brow.  
“Of course, my darling,” Thane answered, taking the door from her so she could walk through.  
Tarre followed behind, trailing Chalandra who led and Thane who followed. Several turns down the hall later, they entered the large dining room. Chalandra looked around, wide-eyed. It bustled with people and noise, servers trying to bring food out to guests at the inn. Sighing, she walked to a far table with four chairs and took a seat.  
As Thane moved to sit next to Chalandra, he moved to sit across from her. He allowed Thane the seat next to her, realizing, quite correctly, that they would want to sit together after so long a time apart. Several moments past, and food was brought out to them. Just a simple breakfast of oatmeal, an apple, and a small glass of milk. It was rather flavorless, but none of them minded. So little now depended on the food, given their company.  
“So, Tarre, where did Chalandra find you?" Thane asked over breakfast, trying to make conversation with the quiet man.  
“In a battle. I was the adopted son of a man who was killed in it. He insisted I go. The only reason I agreed was to attempt to meet the warrior I had heard much of, as I assumed they were of Dendä blood, same as I. What I do not understand is why men wanted our people dead.”  
“You do not need to try to explain the killings of Dendä to me. I was there as my people were slaughtered. It was only by the sacrifice of my loyal captain that my own life was spared. My captain tried to get our people to safety, but they were killed even in surrender.”  
“You were there then?" he asked, "I am afraid I have not yet been informed as to all of your past history with Chalandra. I know parts, but not all. I must confess, I was unable to tell whether or not you were of Dendä descent, given your uncharacteristic traits.”  
“I am full Dendä, but with unusual traits, I do admit,” Thane corrected.  
“My apologizes, my lord, I had no idea.”  
“So did Chalandra train you?" Thane pressed.  
“Yes, my lord, I was blessed with the privilege of her training. She has taken no other apprentices, and I was lucky enough to be have been taken in. She has been an excellent teacher, and has cared for me better than I could have ever asked, or could ever feel worthy of,” Tarre replied.  
“I consider you my son now, Tarre, how could I not care for you?" Chalandra answered, smiling, but looking to Thane.  
After a long moment simply enjoying each other after their long parting, Chalandra looked to Tarre, who sat quietly as he ate.  
"Would you mind giving us a moment, Tarre?" she requested.  
“Not at all,” he said as he stood, taking his breakfast with him as he went to sit at another table.  
Once he was out of earshot, she turned to Thane.  
“I have missed you so much. Everyday has been a lifetime,” she sighed, looking into his loving eyes, though there was a pang of reluctance within her.  
“Who is he? He is not the man in your life, now is he?" Thane asked with a touch of concern.  
“Who else would I find, other than you? You remain everything to me,” she laughed, "He is my child, but there was a reason I took him in. You must remember that man, who we stayed the night with upon our capture. I do not remember his name. That man, he was horrible. He, well, he kept slaves.”  
“Oh Chalandra…” he muttered.  
“No, he was not connected with me. It was your sister. After she disappeared in the battle, he purchased her. For many years he abused her, in more than one sense. She tried to resist, but he was stronger. Her power had been suppressed after the battle, by Gesfel's doing. In a sense, she was disgraced though she had done nothing wrong, same as I. In the end, she bore a child with him. He tried to beat her to end the child's life, but it did not die in the womb. Instead, he swore that once the child was born, he would kill it, then her. The other servants he kept took her in, and cared for her as she prepared to have the child. His wife, the servant, was also pregnant. She birthed first, but the child was stillborn. Your sister gave birth several days later to Tarre. The servants gave their master the stillborn as Tarre, but your sister was unable to be saved. He killed her days before our arrival. The grave he claimed to be an animal was where he buried her body. Tarre was protected by the other servants, but was sent away when he was young.”  
"First you,” he marveled, touching her cheek gently with the back of his calloused hands, "Now this? You tell me my sister's son is alive, and he is that man?"  
“Yes.”  
“I could not dream of a better end, but you are here. You are the one I love, and you have returned! You have come back to me and it is as though nothing has changed. We are together again. Although all the trials we have suffered have left their mark, both on our bodies and our minds, we can live in each other's company again. We are now reunited. Naturally we will care for my sister's son, but Chalandra you have come back to me. Do not ever believe, even for a moment, that you are not enough. I love you more than anything else in the world,” he vowed, squeezing her hand, "All I can promise now is that I will never take you for granted. Not a kiss, not a touch, not even to look at you. It is all the most precious and perfect thing in this earth.”  
“Thane, I too have hurt in our parting, but you know I am not perfect. Though now I am restored to life, the sins of my past still haunt me day and night. I have killed, the innocent. I have killed in battle and torn apart lives. I have slain in what I passed off as self-defense, but it was wrong. I someday will stand judgement for my crimes. I have duties now, as the earth's protector, but there is nothing to as say I have to face that job alone. Though I will try to stand by your side no matter what cruelty and malice fall upon this earth.”  
Thane did not realize how different she was, but in time, she would show him. It would not be an easy thing for him to bear, but he would have to. For already, she felt as though she was being torn in two, with a desire to stay with him, and a desire to roam once more. She was a warrior now, not a woman who was suited to be a housewife. All this time, she had been trying to return to his side, and now, she was not content. She would have to tell him, sooner or later, but not now. She would wait until the time was right, and if she still felt the same, she would return to her wanderer’s life.

That evening, they returned to the room together. Tarre had made arrangements to stay the night but would be leaving the following morning in his tireless pursuit of peace between the divides. Thane locked the door behind himself, ensuring they would be left alone. He watched her as she pulled down the covers, making ready the bed. She was a creature of perfect and utter perfection, and she was his. He never doubted her loyalty to him, nor her resolve in being his companion. She was the thing he had mourned twenty years, but here she was, before him.  
“To think that we are once again together,” Thane muttered, "I may have dreamed it many a time, but I never believed it should actually become true.”  
“And yet here I am, by your side again,” she replied, smiling.  
From the small wardrobe, she pulled out a pair of his old pants, and a worn-out shirt.  
"Do you mind if I borrow these?" she asked.  
“No, please, use them,” he replied, turning away from her.  
Chalandra smiled at his modesty, and quickly changed into the more comfortable clothes.  
“Alright,” she said, letting him know it was safe for him to turn around. Slowly he turned around, then walked over to her.  
“I am sorry I made you share a room with me,” he apologized.  
“Why? I would not have expected anything different from you,” she laughed, though inside she did not find it something to laugh about.  
“For that I am glad, as it was not just for the money saved, but I wished to keep you close,” he admitted, taking her into his arms and kissing her.  
For a moment, he held her, his chin rested on the top of her head. Once more, he kissed the top of her head, then let her go.  
"Goodnight, Beautiful Light,” he said watching as she pulled herself under the covers.  
From the bed, he grabbed a pillow, and tossed it down on the rug. He grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, then began to settle down on the ground. With a loud sigh that he tried to muffle, he organized himself on the hard floor. Chalandra looked over from the side of the bed and chuckled.  
“Thane, what are you doing?" she asked.  
“I am just getting ready to sleep,” he replied.  
“You do not need to stay on the floor.”  
“I do not know where else I would sleep,” he answered.  
“Do you not wish to sleep up here with me?" she asked.  
“Of course, but it is not right that I should lie with a woman who is not yet my wife.”  
“You slept with me last night, and many times before we were parted,” she reminded.  
“Before we were parted, I only ever slept by your side out of necessity. We never lay together when we had a bed, or at least a place for you to be comfortable. Only when we were bound and on the hard ground, then I made sure you were comfortable and warm. Last night was excusable, given our long-standing separation. Tonight though, I believe I should stay down here.”  
“Thane, I trust you completely to remain modest, as you should trust me to remain modest. Last night only proved that we can be trusted together. There is no need for you to sleep on the hard floor.”  
“Perhaps not, I still I shall,” he said firmly, "Only out of respect for you.”


	23. Wrongs of the Past

Part of her had always wanted to return to Thane. The other part was struggling with the feelings of confinement which instantly took over when she returned. She knew she could not be free, and be with him. Perhaps a compromise could be made, but it was not going to be easy. Still, Tarre had warned her, he may not even want her, not after learning of what she had done. Perhaps on some level, he already knew, but he deserved to know, whether or not they ended up staying together.  
With every passing moment, the wanderlust grew stronger. She wanted to return to her past life. How strange, after so many years pining for him, wanting to return, waiting for their reunion, that she would be desperate to be free again, to be able to go about her ways. Though nothing had yet changed, she felt trapped. Almost forced to be with him. She loved him, but did she love him enough now to stay after all she had seen? It seemed though she might not even have to make that choice, for he might make it for her, or he might forgive her, absolving her of all guilt. So, she would tell him everything.  
Thane took her out of the inn that afternoon, knowing at the very least she would be growing tired of the stuffy confines of the place. She was a creature of the outdoors. It was just three days after their reunion, and they had been spent in close proximity to each other, save for when Thane had to work, and he did daily, during which time Chalandra explored the small town, rode Avaleth for the first time in years, and gave advice about the negotiations to Tarre. Thane would have ceased to work, but he needed the job to support himself and her, penniless as he was now, so he continued to go, as greatly as it pained him.  
But that day, he did not have to work. He made an agreement with his superior, so that he might have a day with only her. After packing a meager midday meal with what the inn provided, he took her out to the outskirts of the town, and up a small hill, that they might be alone. She sat and worked at the food in silence for a while, before she finally felt compelled to tell him of her crimes, whether it be for better or worse.  
“I am not the same woman as when we parted,” she began, looking off into the distance, over the tree-lined valley.  
“I would not expect you to be. I am not the same man. I am a penniless lumberman, not a prince.”  
“It is more than that. I am changed by what I have seen, and what I have done.”  
“I am changed having been away from you,” he replied nonchalantly.  
“You do not understand,” she said again, more firmly, “For I am not the same at all. I am different. I have done things, things you would never be able to forgive.”  
“You are wrong about that, my love, for I can forgive much, especially from you,” he answered softly, taking her hand.  
“I was wrong, I was wrong so many times,” she sighed, her voice trailing off for a moment, for even though she still cared for him, she felt herself growing distant in that moment, “I killed. I slaughtered innocents, man, woman, and child. I killed whole villages, I tortured people. I set my sights on so many different people and I cut them down. I wish I could have never done it, but I have. It was not in war, it was in sport. And if you cannot accept that, I would not ask you to, for it is a greater thing than I ever meant to bring upon you. It was done without thought of you, and without thought of any, for I was tasked to bring the peace, and I did so, but at a great cost to myself and others, even if to myself it was only in the loss of my morality.”  
Now here she was. Thane knew of her wrongs, the one person she cared for most in the world. The one person she wanted to please, to make happy. And she failed him, yet she did not feel sorrow over it. She had done wrong, and in doing so, hurt him. She had seen the look on his face, the betrayal he now wore. Truly, she had wanted him to strike her, to hurt her. She begged for him to betray her, to cast her aside. That was what she deserved. She wanted him to abandon her, that was what was right. Yet he would not even lay a hand on her, that she knew, for he was not that man.  
Had he behaved as she wanted, she would have been justified in her hesitation to return to him, to let things return to the way they were. Yet he did not, for deep inside she knew. She knew he would always forgive her, always love her, always care for her. That was more than she thought she deserved, and more than she could ever come to terms with having. It would have been easier had he just sent her away, wicked and scorned. That was more in line with what she had earned. She was not going to be a meek housewife, for she had grown hardened by her years a warrior. He still wanted her, he always would. But she did not deserve it. Already, without asking how they would work through everything, if she was away or not willing to be a mere housewife, that he would take the burden of providing and caring for her on himself, if only to keep her by his side. Yet she could not see herself permitting it. Allowing it. That was more than she wanted, and more kindness than she should ever be given, especially now.  
“You told me you would explain to me what you meant when you said you were different. Obviously, you are different than before. You have passed through the realm of death and lived to tell your story,” he said softly, “Though I did not expect you to tell me of such things.”  
“Perhaps so, for I did indeed pass through the veil of death. But that was not all. I learned things, while I was there. Your father told me. I knew when I died my time was not yet meant to be up. I do not know how, but I did know. That is why I was sent back, because my destiny was unfulfilled. Yet I learned so much more. When I was sent back, I was returned with seething hatred. Hatred for those who had killed me. So I went back into that house, and I slaughtered everyone who was there. Every soldier, the owner of the farm, his wife, even the children. I killed innocents, Thane. And that was only the start. I did not kill them with a blade, or even with my power. I killed them with a mere wave of my hand. For I had become all powerful. I am even now. My power, the power I was meant to have, had I not been corrupted by Gesfel, was restored to me. I am a Magma, Thane. I always have been. I assumed I was a fire, but I was not.”  
“I never thought you were a mere fire, though I know the tale of the last magma kind surrendering in order to bring peace.”  
“That was my great grandfather. He consulted a witch, back in the days of Gesfel's first reign, to weaken Gesfel and to bring about an heir who could defeat him. That witch was Gesfel's daughter. She knew well of his terror. So she made it as he requested. I was that heir, powerful enough to defeat him, as you know. But Gesfel found me, and corrupted me before I could defeat him. When you used the moonstone, it was slowly restoring me to my former power. He had me killed. Yet I was sent back, as my destiny was not yet fulfilled. When I was brought back, I had power I could never have imagined. I am still a magma, but I also have the other abilities. I have no limits, I can fell armies with the wave of my hand. Much to my regret, I have done that.”  
“But why did you not come to me? You might not have done everything you tell me of."  
“Because I killed innocents, right after I was sent back to bring peace. I assumed that meant defeating Gesfel, but it simply meant peace. I was punished for my actions, my unjust slaughter. I was sentenced to remain away from you. I believed it was for twenty years, but I was wrong. It was until I brought the peace and made right my wrongs.”  
“Now you have come, for me,” he said softly, though already he could see in her eyes that she was growing bored with a quieter life.


	24. The Harder Choice

The days that followed began to blur together for her, one becoming the next, and the next. She did nothing, every day, and it drove her near mad. He worked, from morn till night, at the lumberyard, readying to provide for her life. But she was painfully bored. All she did was go out of the village on Avaleth, riding for a while, meeting with Tarre, and then going back again to have dinner with Thane at the inn. Yet with every passing day she grew more impatient. Some morning she paced the already worn floor, just wishing for something to happen. Other days, she took her bow with her and fired arrows into the deep of trees, for there was little else for her to do. She was happy to have seen him again, but with every passing moment, she became less and less content. She wanted to be free, to leave him again and seek out the life she had been meant to live.  
That evening, she took dinner with Thane as usual, though she was quieter, even more so than normal, and he noticed. Setting down his spoon on the splintered table, he looked up to her with a knowing smile, even though his words contradicted his expression.  
“I must admit, I am unsure as to your motives to return,” Thane sighed, though he smiled to her, “I am so happy to know you are safe, yet you seem utterly distracted and as though you do not wish to be here.”  
“No, no, it is not that. I simply worried about how Tarre is faring without me. I am certain he is fine though.”  
“You seem almost restless.”  
“I am, I suppose,” she agreed, shrugging, “I have not been in the same place more than a week since I saw you last.”  
“What do you mean to do?” he inquired, “Do you mean to stay?”  
“I am not certain,” she admitted, her voice softening for she admitted the truth to him for the first time, “I wanted to let you know I lived, and I thought, we would pick up right where we left off, but it now feels wrong to do so. There has been too much since then.”  
“I do not expect you to be the same person, my love, I only hope that you will continue to write me into your life.”  
“I suppose I will, but we can hardly marry now,” she laughed, meaning it to be lighthearted, but failing to realize the hurt she caused him through her words.  
Thane nodded solemnly and swallowed hard, then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. That was not something he had expected to hear. Knowing she was alive, that was a miracle, but from the moment he laid eyes on her again, he had thought they would marry and continue their life together. He never imagined that she would fail to see a future for them now that she had changed. But to tell her? That would likely drive her away-something he did not want to do. To live without her though, knowing she was alive? To let her go all over again in pursuit of some warrior’s life and likely fatal destiny? It would destroy him. He hardly desired to let her out of his sight, much less to suffer the pain of watching her exit his life all over again, thought it would not be a permanent end. This was a blow he had never once contemplated. Yet, for now, he had to smile and agree for fear she would leave him too soon.  
“No, no, I suppose not,” he lied, faking his smile now.  
“To think that we would be able to start from where we ended? That would be outrageous. I am so vastly different. I am a warrior now, not some feeble woman who needs supported by her husband or fiancé. I cannot image trying to be that person again now.”  
“Nor would you be asked to,” he sighed, biting his lip.  
Even before she died, he never saw it in such a manner. She was his world, both before and after she died. Asking her to be anything less than the center of his world would be untruthful.  
“Perhaps you would not, but society certainly would,” Chalandra returned with a smile, feeling more free now that she had admitted her feelings to him, “After all, the only use the world can see for me is to cook and clean and bear children, the last of which I am not even capable of doing. So to ask a man, even you, to give up all of that in exchange for a brazen wife who will seldom do any of the prior is clearly a unreasonable request. Society is not content, or even comfortable with such a concept, so I cannot imagine you would desire such a thing.”  
“I do not know,” Thane lied, though he cautiously added: “Perhaps I would because I care about you?”  
“You cared about me,” she corrected, rather harshly then took a quick sip of water, “I am not the same woman, so to make such a statement is entirely too presumptuous.”  
“I know the woman you once were, and I loved her more deeply than life itself. You forget, I was ready to die the day you did. I wanted to kill myself. Even after I vowed not to do such a thing, in your honor, I still desired to more deeply than anything else. I had no reason to live, for that died with you. Even up to the day you returned, I wanted to end my miserable life. I thought, so many times, that men might finish the task for me, but they never did, so I was forced to live on in anguish. So if you believe, even for a moment, that I do not still care for you, you are entirely mistaken indeed.”  
“You have no right to pin your troubles on me!” she scoffed, shaking her head, “You chose to remain alone, that was your own choice. You cannot try to use that as an excuse, for that is your own sorrow. I did nothing wrong, and yet you attempt to frame me for your pitiful last few years. And I have no doubt you still care for me, as I still care for you in some way. It is all that I have done, for I have done some terrible things, that I know I am not the same woman I once was, and I am now even unrecognizable to myself.”  
“That means nothing to me,” Thane refuted, “I do not care what you have done, or how you have changed, for I still love you more deeply than I can ever describe. Nor was I intending to frame you for my troubles, nor asking you to carry them, for they have been brought about by my own folly. Instead, I am merely letting you know that while I shall never ask you to remain with me if you truly do not believe it is right, that I will always, always want you back, no matter how you have changed or what you have become.”  
Thane watched her closely, his forehead beaded with a touch of sweat and his hands shaking a little. She could tell he was struggling, even if he had not yet explained what he was nervous about. The last few days, she had been closed off. She knew it full well, but could not help herself. It was far easier to shut him out than to face the fact of the matter. She was a different person than when they were last together, and she saw this as closure now, nothing more. He had been ignoring it, but there was still a distance between them, one which they both felt. Even if she had only come to put things right between them, then it was good for her to have seen him again. To have put her inklings of something more to rest. Now, she loved him, but not in the same way. They were so vastly different than when they were previously engaged. She was so changed. He seemed frozen in time, obsessed with the fact she was dead. After today, perhaps he could move on with his life. Realize, as she had, that they were only a dream, nothing more. If their lives had of been different, perhaps they would be together, but she hardly even recognized him. She had grown beyond him.  
Instead of closing himself off from her as she had, he took her hand, only to have her withdraw it. There was, in her mind, no sense in permitting him to fantasize or leading him on in a way she did not share sentiments. A bit surprised, he pulled his hand back and laid it on his lap, his gaze dropping a bit. Clearing his throat, he drew a deep breath before speaking.  
“I know you do not see me in the same way you once did,” he began again, his words carefully chosen as was evident by the slow pace of his speech, “But I as you indulge me, if only for a moment.”  
“I came all this way and you waited so long. It is the least I can do,” she assured him, though she was still cold in her delivery.  
“I do not know why you are so reserved these days of late, but I wish I might put you at ease. I no longer know how you feel, though I am so glad you came back here. I still thought you to be dead. Not matter what comes of this, I will rest easier knowing you are alive and well, even if it is not by my side.”  
“What are you saying, Thane? That you still wish for me to be with you?”  
“If you could ever think otherwise, I have failed you gravely. I know you are not the same, but to me, this is painfully simple. I love you, I always have, and I always will. Even if you are not the same woman, but one of confidence and skill, then I want to be with you. I still want to make you my wife. And if you allow me that, I will do whatever I must to make it work between us, for you know I shall never let you go. I will work and provide. I will cook and clean and tend to the house if it means you are mine and I have you in my life, but that you might continue the warrior’s role as well.”  
There was hardly a debate. She was not a housewife, a woman who could be happy doing naught but tending the stove and keeping the house. With such a life, she would grow restless. It would truly astound her if she would even last a week being such a humble woman. A warrior belonged in battle. And now, she was hardened by war and sorrows. She no longer had room in her heart and life for a man on whom she could relay. Years ago, perhaps. But now? She thought of him and felt little. Even less when she remembered how she would be expected to behave. Her true destiny had changed her, more than she had cared to admit before now.  
She had to believe all those years she had been telling herself she wanted to be with him, to return to him, in order to prove to herself she was fine. That she was the same woman she had been. Yet now she was here, there was no pretending. She did not belong. The years of the battlefield and hardship had shaped her into a true warrior. The mere knowledge that she was a born and bred fighter changed her entirely. She stepped into that role. So many years she had drifted, wondering what she was meant to be. So long, she had thought she was nothing, yet longed to be something greater. It was only when she had been told the truth that she realized what she had been longing for. It was this. War, bloodshed, establishing a peace through the impossible. Not love, not a life as a wife.  
But inside, she knew it was not true. No matter how hardened she thought herself to be now, some part of her still longed to be at Thane’s side. She wanted to be his, even if she was not to be a housewife. Back when she used to know him, being a housewife would have been perfectly acceptable. Now it was repulsive, but he would not ask that of her. He had made as much clear. They were to be equals, companions, just as before. He would work and cook and clean and do everything he needed to do in order to make their life together work. He would work tirelessly to ensure her comfort and happiness and never once ask her to stay when he knew she could not. Her life would go on, same as it had, only with a place to call home. His would be the one to freeze, to stop and become a distant memory in order to establish their marriage. That was the man he was. So dedicated and devoted that he would do anything in order to keep her. In truth, she still loved him, no matter how deeply she had buried it.  
So finally, turning to him, a few strands of her golden hair drifting over her face, she took a deep breath and gave him her answer: “Yes.”  
Thane looked at her for a long moment, as though stunned. Shaking his head a little, he took a few short breaths and blinked quickly a few times. Finally, he closed his mouth and swallowed hard, then cleared his throat.  
“I did not think you were going to say yes,” he admitted, his eyes filling with tears, “I thought you were to say we were too different of people now than we were twenty years ago. I truly thought you had moved past me in a way I never was able to, and that our relationship was to slip into a distant memory for you, while the wound reopened for me.”  
“Are you happy though? For you seem a bit unhappy,” she inquired, smiling a bit though she was still uneasy with the thought of dragging him back into her mess.  
“Of course I am!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and kissing it, “More than I could ever say.”  
“It will not be easy for us,” she reminded solemnly.  
“I know, but that does not matter. I will do whatever it takes to make us work, to make our marriage work. Even if I only have you a small fraction of the time, for you are required to attend to your other duties the rest of the time, it will be more than enough, for I will have you.”  
“What of the fact I came back to you?”  
“I do not know what I thought. In recent days, you had been distant, and rightly so, for you are laboring between a difficult choice. You are a woman of substance, who does not need a man on whom to lean, yet you are permitting me to be a part of your life. I am grateful for that, more than I can say. I thought we were to have only a few nights together, that you wanted to let me know you were alive before moving on. I believed you to be merely passing through, not staying to be with me.”  
“As you say, I am not the same woman. I have grown and changed, even if you have not. I will not be able to be a mere housewife.”  
“And I shall not ask you to,” he promised, kissing her hand again.  
“I will be your wife. though,” she said again, more happily this time.  
Even now, as she struggled to commit herself to him in her mind, she found a sense of calm in her choice. Before they were brought together again, thoughts of him brought her peace. In her darkest hour, fear of his disappointment brought her mercy. She had always been afraid she would do wrong in his eyes. Memories of him had been her compass when her own moral compass failed. So now, when they sat together, and she decided whether to become his wife? She had to agree, for she still loved him, and he loved her more than life itself.

With his savings, he moved them into a small rental home now that she had agreed to stay, and to become his wife. It was not much larger than the inn, but it was a space of their own, which was far better than the constant noise and dim of the inn. It was truly a small house, but it was satisfactory for now. In time, they would buy their own place, along with some land perhaps, a little way away from all the noise and judgement of the town.  
Their new home was run down, old, and even a bit leaky. It did stand freely from the other buildings around it, but just barely. It had a set of four stairs leading up to the door, all of which were cracking and splintering from years of renters of various care. The door itself was painted green for a reason none could discern, though the paint had long since faded to a shell of the former color.  
The house itself really consisted of only one room, with a mid-size bed in the middle. Along the wall to the left of the door was a small window, beneath which a wooden table and two chairs had been placed. Directly to the right of that was a cabinet which was built into the wall, just to the left of the bed. On the opposite wall, the wall to the right of the door was a basin, water pump, short counter space of flaking wood, and in the far corner, a fireplace. There was a small glass pane window just above the basin and water pump. Both the windows had curtains of some terrible sand color, but served their purpose as well as could be expected. Above and below the counter were faded, green painted cabinets, and Chalandra truly was unable to decipher why anyone would paint anything such a dreadful color, but without answers or much money, simply would live with them.  
The bed was just large enough to fit the two of them, it seemed, though it had yet to be broken in. Thane had put a few quilts and some very sad looking pillows on the bed, making it up as best he could, but with the bulk of their money going towards saving to buy a nicer house, it would simply have to do for now. Together, he thought, they could make it a home.


	25. Forever Bound

It was just after dark when she began her walk, the sun having left behind only a painted purple hue in the air. This was the moment she had anticipated all those years, walking down the aisle to the man she loved. The man who would do anything to keep her.  
Though it had taken some time to find a woman with the skill to make it, she wore a white dress in the traditional Dendä style. It was close fitted, a lace-covered top with lace sleeves that extended down her arms, down to her wrist. The skirt was made of a lighter fabric, but without boundless amounts of layers, so that it instead laid flat over her legs.  
It trailed behind her, the back of it pooling around her feet when she stood. The aisleway was simple grass, with dew just starting to form on the ends of it. It had been sprinkled with white moonflowers, some of which got tangled in the train of her dress. But she hardly noticed, for she was too fixed on the man she was walking to. Even with all the challenges she was facing, they were to face, she was consumed in the moment.  
On either side of the aisle, every three feet or so, white candles had been set in the dirt, providing the small bit of illumination in the dying light. Around the area at which she was to stand with Thane, candles had likewise been placed, interspaced between bunches of the flowers. And so, she walked. She walked down the aisle to him. She never would have thought the day would come, nor would he of, but it was happening. The man she had coveted. The man she had desired. The man she had almost turned away for fear she would be sacrificing her freedom. But the day had come, and it was her choice.  
So two lives would finally be bound as one, after these many years long. No more waiting for their reunion day, nor debating his proposal. Now it was happening. Now she was to be his. There could be no turning back, for such a thing would only serve to hurt him. She knew he would be true, kind, just, fair. There was no doubt of their love, only a shadow which made her fear she might not be an acceptable wife. Yet, she knew he would accept her all the same, thus was his way. He was steady, even as she was changing. He was constant, even as she was in flux. Perhaps it would be a good thing, to have something so reliable in her life. But now, she focused on the moment, her golden hair glistening in the darkness as she neared him.  
His eyes were so calm, so steady. His gaze, so loving, so excited. Thus was the way they would begin their lives together, at peace. The joy in his heart, could hardly be contained, but the ceremony went on, each moment adding to the dream they had so long wished to have. They had a future together, forever. Never would they be parted, but together they would live out all eternity. The happiness the thought brought him could not be described, as it is too powerful to be put into words. But now he knew what love truly was, for it was her. To feel that way was impossible except with her, and that was the greatest, strongest feeling in the world. It was a love so strong, death could not destroy it. No other emotion could do that, only love. Hate destroys; anger resents; sorrow blinds; joy leads; but love heals. Love rises up and triumphs over all. It is the foundation for all other emotions, as it is the strongest. Nothing can bring spite like love, but likewise nothing can bring joy as it does. And now, he had the privilege to pledge himself to her, for the rest of his years.

For a moment, she paused. Looking into the mirror, she pulled down the bit of hair she had pinned back. Her heart thudded in her chest, a testament to her unrest. There was some manner of fear, that she would not deny. She loved him, that she would never deny. But there was still fear. She would do this, there was no doubt in her mind, but it was still hard to walk through that door and offer herself to him.  
He would be kind to her. She never doubted that for a moment. There was not a question in her mind that made her believe he would fail to treat her with the utmost respect and kindness. And he would be gentle, that was true. He was not some brute who would force this upon her, he would wait her for consent. Thankfully for her, he was often a bit of a direct man, and would likely take control of the situation for her after she offered her permission. Yet even though there was little reason to fear, she failed to steady her heartbeat.  
Though he was not like others she had met, and certainly was different from those she had heard stories about, there was unrest for her all the same. The desire to be with him was real, and that was not fading. She wanted to be with him in this capacity. She desired to be his wife, fully and completely, but standing here, waiting, did not help her anxiety. She had to step through the door and face him.  
It was the demons of her past which haunted her, not the reality which she now stood in. The only experience she ever had with men in such a capacity was Greneth, all those years past, when he had attempted to force himself upon her. That was hardly a pleasant thing to remember, yet it was the only thing which came to mind. Now, it was hardly fair to compare Thane to him, for she knew and loved him, but the comparison lingered all the same. Yet she had to cling to the knowledge that he would be gentle, and he would be loving. So, taking a deep breath to steady her trembling hand, she opened the door and passed through.  
“I did not want the dress to be wrinkled if left on the floor, and I was unsure what else to wear,” she admitted, glancing down to her ensemble of old clothing which she had hastily thrown on.  
“I would think it hardly matters,” Thane returned solemnly, nodding.  
“That was my thought, that I would not be wearing them for long. Though I feared you might find me undesirable in such an outfit.”  
“I would not be afraid of that, my darling,” he answered, this time more gently, “Come, sit with me.”  
For another instant, she lingered in the doorway. Anxiety surged through her veins, causing her to feel helpless and immobile. Eventually, she forced herself to move towards him. Heart pounding, she took a seat on the edge of the bed, tucking her legs beneath her. For a moment, he looked her over, his kind gaze watching her every movement. Smiling a little, he kissed her forehead and placed a gentle hand along her chin. Unintentionally, she drew in a quick breath, but his gesture brought a good deal of needed peace. Still, her sharp breath was enough to make him realize her nerves.  
“My darling,” he said gently, previously unaware of how nervous she was, “You do not need to be afraid.”  
“I’m not necessarily afraid in the usual sense,” she admitted, knowing she could be honest, “More nervous.”  
“There is no need for fear or apprehension.”  
“No, I know,” she assured him, “I trust you completely, and I too desire this, it is simply that this is a new situation for me, for both of us, one that I cannot say I know how to approach. You also forget, my only experience with men in this capacity was not even a little pleasant.”  
“I know it was not, yet you need not be nervous. I would never hurt you, nor pressure you, which is why we need not do anything, least of all tonight while you are full of dread.”  
“I would hardly call it dread.”  
“No, perhaps not, but that changes nothing. Tonight is evidently not the night for this, if we ever are to do this.”  
Chalandra shook her head and laughed as she replied: “Thane, you know I love you. It is for that reason that I want to do this tonight. Your hesitation only credits you, and I realize now my fears will be entirely unfound. Not that I thought they would have been. We have tried to marry several times before, and I will not let some nerves get in the way of tonight.”  
“You are not alone in your fear.”  
“I am not? What have you to fear?’  
Nodding, he took in a deep breath before answering: “I am fearful that I may hurt you. I would never wish for you to come to any harm by my doing, even if it is unintentional. The idea that I could hurt you is far more compelling than the desires I have towards you. I should never want to harm you.”  
“I am hardly afraid of that. I know you to be a good and gentle man, one who I have no doubt will care for me fully throughout such an act.”  
“You know that I will, yet I am afraid nonetheless. I have been blessed by the most delicate of flowers, the most beautiful woman I have ever lain eyes on, and the thought I may bring pain to her, to you, by mere accident is more than I should ever want. Likewise, I am fearful that I might have pressured you to this when I alone desired it. That would be a sin of the highest offense.”  
“I think you worry more than you credit yourself for. You are not a brute, nor would you bring harm to me when you could prevent it,” she assured him, taking his hand. “I believe fail to acknowledge how kind you are, and how loving you can be. I chose, of my own free will, to be with you. I am not some wild thing that you tamed and forced into submission, nor do I feel as though you have brought me into this. I am yours, Thane, and I want this just as much as you.”  
“Perhaps you do, but that does not change my opinion of this.”  
Chalandra shook her head and smiled a little, realizing there was no reason for her fear. He was the man she always knew him to be, no matter what struggles she faced in her choice to marry him. Without another word, she pulled the shirt she had worn over her head and cast it aside. Thane drew in a short breath, not expecting to be confronted by her bare body. Gently, she took his hand and drew it to the dark, jagged patch of skin beneath her left breast.  
“This is what brought me back to you.”  
At first, his touch was tense, but as she held it against her skin for a moment, it softened. His calloused hand brought her a sense of security, for it was his touch that had soothed her so often before.  
“I am not afraid,” she told him, leaning in a little closer.  
He nodded slowly, his nervous gaze locked onto hers. He was. She might have let her fear go, found herself now full of courage and of strength, but he still was afraid. This woman, this girl who he had met so many years ago. He was undeserving of her. He never would have dreamed he could have tempted her into marriage, an ungraceful, unattractive man such as himself. Yet she always found the good in him. It was always she who brightened his day and made him smile. Now, she closed the distance between them and kissed him, trying to break through the ice which had formed between them. Though he became rigid at first, he soon wrapped his arms around body. Though he wrapped his arms around her upper back, pulling her delicate frame against his, he feared he would bruise her. That he could break the elusive creature before him. His arms, they could end a man’s life with a mere twist of the wrist. Yet he feared he would bring harm to the woman he cared for. He knew his own strength, which is why he sought to protect her from himself. But now, she had tempted him. She had looked to break through his walls, for she trusted him, and she knew he would not betray that trust.  
Eventually, he softened. Unable to prevent himself from wishing to touch her, to hold her, he pulled her closer, wrapping his firm arms ever closer around her. She, in response, wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to draw him in. With her lips on his, he found new courage. The strength to overcome the fear which had driven him back. Carefully, he moved her back further onto the bed, his hands on her hips, guiding her back. Slowly, he lowered her down onto the bed, kissing her all the while. For a moment, their lips parts and he looked down at her for a brief moment before his vision was obstructed by his shirt as he pulled it over his head.  
His hands moved lightly over her, the feel of her skin under his fingertips was softer than silk. Still, though she had shown no signs of discomfort, he feared he would hurt her. That he might tough her too firmly or that the calluses of his hands might catch her delicate skin. Yet, instead of pushing him away, she moved her hands down his back.  
Even though it was years prior, his skin criss-crossed his back from where he had taken the beating for her. It had never fully healed. He had always born the marks with pride, knowing he had saved her from the same fate. But now, he was ashamed of them. These were the marks of imperfection. They showed his mortality and his vulnerability. Chalandra, she was free from error, yet he was fallen. Why then had she chosen to bind herself to him, such a weak one as himself. He had accepted these marks instead of fighting back. He was a strong man, yet had failed to protect himself.  
Noticing him growing a bit tense, Chalandra placed a slender hand on his cheek. She knew, without confirmation from him, what he was thinking. He thought of all the times he had waned in the face of difficulty. The times he believed he failed to keep her safe. But little did he know, she loved him all the more for having taken them upon himself in her stead. She did not see them as an imperfection, but as a testament of his devotion to her.  
“You protect me, both then and now,” she murmured, trying to bring him ease, “You took them so that I might not have suffered. That is why I love you.”  
Her words brought him a sense of ease, though he could not help but be conscious of himself, his imperfections, and his shortcomings. He was the one who fell short and left something to be desired. Yet in some extraordinary way, she seemed to want him. Her gentle touch, it fell into the deep crevices of his scars, yet her body was unmarked and unblemished. And though he could hardly force himself to look away from the perfection before him, it felt wrong to look upon her as he now did. To think he would commit such an act with her felt as though he was to commit a crime against nature, for such a creature of beauty should never be tainted or taken in such a manner.  
His every touch was tender. He strove to put her at ease, but likewise to bring her pleasure. He sought out her most sensitive spots, if only to further remind her of how deeply he cared. Not even for a moment did his lips leave her body. Whether he neck or cheeks or lips, he seemed incapable of tearing his chapped, but unmatchablely gentle, lips away. All the while, he whispered his love to her, not permitting her to forget for a heartbeat that he cared for her with all his heart, nor that he found her to be beyond compare. Never, for a moment, was there a sliver of doubt in her mind that he loved her wholly and truly.


	26. No More Fantasies

He would accept her. He had already told her as much. But there was something that kept her up that night. She knew any other time, she would fall peacefully asleep in his arms, but tonight she could not. Instead, she lay restless, trying to sleep. Had he been awake, he would have worried about her as he always did. However, he had fallen asleep long since, lulled to sleep by the knowledge that he had finally made Chalandra his wife.  
Carefully, so as not to wake him, she moved his arm aside. Slowly, she eased her way out of bed, then fully freed herself of the covers he had so lovingly tucked around her. In silence, she moved towards the door, even the movement of her feet failing to make noise. In the midst of the night, she stole away to their other little room and closed the door behind her, the sealing of the room making a dull thud even as she tried to prevent it.  
Earlier that day, she had stowed everything in there. She had hidden every blade and bow in there, at his request, in preparation for her new life. So wanting of her he was that he was willing to set aside her every wrong, her every misjudgment, and her every sin. Her hands were soaked in the blood of innocents, yet he still took her in as his wife. Even more, he had agreed to let her continue her quest, her campaign for peace. There was no hesitation in taking her in, but now, she had to choose. Even if he was not forcing her to, she knew she could not be happy living two lives.  
From the cabinet, she drew her sword. The broadsword she had carried into every battle, which had rarely left her side. Finding no other clothes in the room, she pulled tight battle-clothes on, prepared in case she was not to return. To her side, she fastened her broadsword, then departed from the room and from the house, uncertain as to whether she would return.  
As she made her way down the steps, she looked around, and found the town quiet and still. The stables were only a short way away, so she made it there in just a few moments, especially as she was in haste. Once inside, she greeted Avaleth and quickly bridled her. Leading her out into the street, she swung up and sent her mare forwards, guiding her away from the town and into the hills.  
Though Thane had not told her, she knew what this place was. It was the town of Berel, likely sought by the mourning man for some kind of solace and a way to be close to his departed. At the top of the hill, overlooking the town, that was where her childhood home and once stood. As of yet, she had not ventured up there. Now, she felt the urge to visit herself, if only to gain some kind of sense of belonging and of reason.  
The night was warm, as it was not yet the start of winter. She hoped the night air would be cooler, as she found that always helped her to think. Avaleth made her way swiftly through town, having never been the sort to be idle or lazy. In fact, the mare enjoyed the night run as much as her master, yet she was not weighted down by the burdens of her owner.  
Twenty years ago, she would have set everything aside to become the wife of Thane. Now, here she was, newly married to him, and yet feeling more restless and uneasy than ever before. She was a different person. She was no longer the kind-hearted, simple girl she had been when they fell in love. And so, she was reluctant to drag him into the mess. She had seen horrors more than he, and committed acts of unspeakable violence as he never would have. He knew this, and yet still wished to take her in. Who was she to deny him? Yet, she was cautious and unwanting to have a life with him. How could she truly have a marriage and be a warrior?  
He never asked her to put aside the life she had been living. He assured her they would make it work, that even though they were fundamentally different people than they had been twenty years ago, that their love would be enough. But the question remained: Could she do it? Could she watch him suffer and wonder where she went off to when she disappeared from their bed? Could she permit him to allow himself to love a warrior, a woman who was supposed to be without ties? Could she love him and still do what needed done, even when she knew he would not approve? She did not need his approval, but she would want it. Not that she lived her life for him, or that it changed what she would do, but she would have to watch some fight build a wall through their love. So, was it worth permitting herself to be in that position in the first place?  
As she wove her way up the switchbacks to the hill where her family home stood, she pondered it all. She still loved him, there was no denying that. He, unlike herself, was the same man he had been, only tainted and changed by the grief he felt through her loss. Losing her now would likely destroy him, but she could not allow that to change her. She had to make this choice for herself, for she could not be both a warrior and a housewife. And this was a choice she had to make alone. He would attempt to convince her they would make it work once more, and that she could be both while still maintaining a healthy relationship together. Perhaps, knowledge of how painful this choice would be was the reason she was separated from him, to allow her to grow to be strong enough. She had to make the choice, the one she did not want to, and the one she would always regret, for she was sent back for a reason. And that reason was not to be a housewife. She was a warrior, born and bred, crafted from the moment Gesfel was born in order to be a force to fight him. So, she had to fulfill her duty.  
Rounding the last switchback, Avaleth gained speed as she moved from the rocky terrain to the grass of the plateau. Looking up, Chalandra saw a half-finished house over the ground of where her family home had once been. It surprised her, more than it should have, to see someone had begun construction there. It was, after all, a lovely plot of land which was in general, very safe and quiet. Reining in Avaleth, she approached without hesitation, for she knew no one would be living there yet. This house, it was so modest, unlike her previous home which had been a true grandiose ambassador’s house. This was built of lumber, from the nearby forest, and crafted with crude tools, not in the fine Dendä fashion.  
Once she was near, she pulled her horse to a stop and swung off. Approaching slowly, she made her way up the three steps and across the porch. Even in the dark of the night, she could see writing to the left of the door, on the doorframe about waist-height. Leaning in, she read the words written in the wood rather roughly, likely carved out with a knife: For Chalandra. It was only then it hit her. This was Thane’s work. He was building a home atop her childhood home for the two of them. He had likely even been working on it before he knew she was alive.  
The realization crashed over her, sending her staggering back. She had to stay. This was her home now. Being with Thane, that was what mattered. Tarre, he would take care of everything, he would keep the peace. He no longer needed her to guide him, and so he would keep the calm. She could step away. She had to. They needed each other, and they deserved to have a marriage.  
Turning her back to the door, she went back down the steps. From her sheath, she drew her sword, the blade which had seen the darkest of her sins, and at the foot of the steps, she sunk it into the earth, with not more than a third of the blade in the surface of the earth. It was painful, but it would serve as a reminder for all the she had sacrificed for this marriage. If she could set aside her blade, they could do anything to keep their relationship alive. So, just as the sky began to lighten with the rising sun, she whistled for Avaleth and started back towards home.

Thane sat on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands. She had left him. He knew there was a chance she would not be satisfied to simply be his wife, but he never dreamed she would leave him on the night of their wedding. Before their wedding, he had given her every opportunity to leave. Yet, she had stayed. She had seemed a bit flighty and, to him, appeared to have a hard time agreeing to marry him. However, he knew it was not out of lack of love, but simply out of a difficulty setting aside the life she had known for the last twenty years. Even though he did not approve of everything she had done, he made it clear he did not expect her to set aside everything to become his housewife. He would do everything: work, cook, clean, pay the rent, shop, sew, whatever needed done, if only to keep her as his wife. She could spend her days in idleness or on the battlefield, it made no difference to him so long as she was his. Even so, she clearly was not able to set aside her desires in order to make it work.  
He did not blame her for leaving. Perhaps it had been their wedding night which had made her realize what she had agreed to. Or, perhaps, he had been lacking in that aspect and she found it impossible to act as his wife if she did not find him fulfilling or attractive. He would not have faulted her for such a situation, for her perfection could not be matched by a humble, ordinary man such as himself, and she certainly could not find satisfaction with him. Inside, he knew this was not the reason she left, but the thoughts still haunted him. The truth, as he knew, was simple: She had outgrown him. She had been a strong woman when they met, even though she had been torn down by time and abuse. Now, she had learned so much about the world. She understood. And so, she no longer needed him as he needed and clung to her.  
Without warning, the front door creaked open, yanking him away from his thoughts. Surprised, he looked up, though his elbows still rested on his knees. Chalandra, a satchel bag in hand, passed through the doorway. For a moment, he sat dumbfounded at her return. The moment he was able to tear himself away from the trance, he rushed to her side and gathered her tightly in his arms.  
“Chalandra,” he muttered, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her scent.  
She smiled a little, and wrapped her arms lightly around his body, saying: “You act as though I have been gone for years! I only went out to fetch us a little breakfast.”  
Slowly, he released her, a bit hurt by her words. In testament, she held up the satchel, which held some manner of corn cake and some dried meat.  
“I thought we should have something we did not need to cook for today,” she added lightheartedly.  
Solemnly, he shook his head, then answered: “I do not ask much of you, my love, but I do ask you be honest with me. I am not a fool.”  
“I did not take you to be.”  
“Yet you lie to my face, thinking I will be ignorant of the truth?”  
“How do you mean?” she asked, pretending not to know.  
“You have been gone for over six hours. You think you would leave here without me noticing? That you could steal away like a thief and I would be none the wiser?”  
“I am sorry if I worried you, I merely needed some time to myself,” she replied, setting the satchel aside, “I did not think you would fret over that.”  
“I would not, yet as I said, I am not a fool. You took your broadsword. You wear your battle clothes. You did not mean to simply think. As I told you before, I would not mind if you went off to attend to whatever duties, so long as I know when you are to return and when you are to leave. Even if you merely leave me a note so I do not worry.”  
“I am sorry, it was urgent and so slipped my mind,” she apologized, though she felt guilty to tell another lie.  
“I know you better than that. I know you would not have left on our wedding night after I went to sleep unless you did not wish to be caught,” he reminded, “I feared you did not mean to come back.”  
Finally, she took a deep breath and glanced away before answering: “I did not mean to.”  
The news was hard for him, but at least her honesty brought him some sense of relief. Finding her words hard to bear, he took a seat on the edge of the table.  
“I know it seems unnecessary, but I feel as though I must ask, why now? Was I not satisfactory to you as a husband? I will never forgive myself if I pressured you last night, I truly will not, but I must know the truth.”  
“You know that is not what drove me away. It is myself. I had to come to terms with some things, but I believe I have found my peace.”  
“Why did you not choose to leave sooner? Before our marriage was consummated if you thought you were unable to stay? Or, why did you permit us to do that at all?”  
“I know, that was unfair to you, for if it was not, it would be far easier for you to dissolve the marriage if it was not. I am sorry, for that,” she admitted.  
“It is not myself I think of, but you. It would have been far easier for you to be married to another if you were…unused.”  
“I would not have married another,” she answered firmly, knowing he always feared the worst.  
“What brought you home?” he asked gently, wanting to take her hand but fearing to.  
“You did,” she answered plainly, her voice wavering a little as she spoke, “I knew I could not do that to you, nor myself. I thought to leave, I will not lie about that, but I was unable to because it meant leaving you too. The truth remains, we do not know each other like we used to, for it has been a long time since last we met, but there is still love between us. I am a different woman than the one you fell in love with.”  
“But I love you all the same,” he assured her, taking her hand into his.  
“I know,” she replied, smiling a little, “Yet you hardly know me as you used to. I am not weak, I am strong. I know who I am, and all I must do. I have done things I regret, but I hold to the idea that it was done for the greater good in the end. Likewise, I know you were shaped by grief. Grief due to both my loss and the loss of your people, but changed all the same. I know there is still something between us, and that our strong is not yet at an end. But I do not think this will be an easy road.”  
“I am willing to make it happen. You know I will.”  
“Of course I do, but I thought it would be easier for you if I was not here. That it might be easier for both of us. It was only later that I realized neither of us would be happy with such an arrangement. We need each other. I did not find myself with a day passing without thoughts of you. I know you were the same. Even if we must fight for this, I think it will be worth it in the end.”  
“I am so happy you returned,” Thane interrupted, knowing she would continue to talk.  
“I am too. It would be wrong to leave,” she sighed, pressing her forehead against his, “I know I could not find such a great man anywhere else. You were building a home?”  
“You went up the mountain?” he asked, surprised and somewhat disappointed his secret had been ruined.  
“I wanted to clear my head up there, but I did not realize you were building a home for us. How long have you been working?”  
“I was hoping to make it a surprise for you, but I have been working on it since before I knew you were alive.”  
“Why? Why build a home there when you thought me to be dead?”  
“I was holding out hope. I wanted you to be alive, and that someday we might share that home. Once we were reunited, I wanted to finish it first. I should have known you would have wanted to return there.”  
She smiled a little, and nodded, then said: “I should not have expected any less of you. Despite our differences and the struggles we are to face, you have always been a kind man who places me above all else.”  
He had never expected such words from her, but it brought him peace, which was why she had insistently pursued it. If she had not so early put to rest his fears, he would have acted that way every single time he was concerned about something. It was endearing, but it was also a bit annoying. But now he would no longer fret over that matter, it seemed.


	27. Homelife

The following morning was his day off. Together, they mounted their horses after a quick breakfast, which Thane had made for her. They rode only with a bridle, as usual. After the short journey through town and up the mountainside, they stood on their land. It was theirs, but there was so much to be done to it. Unlike the other plots inside the town, it was vast, large and full of fertile land. A stream, fed by snow runoff, trickled through it. Through lands that were theirs. The lush, green grass would soon feed their herds of sheep, horses, and cows. The stream would give them water. The trees would give them shade and protection. The mountainside was to be their home.  
Several fields would be ploughed and sown behind their house, and to the right of it. They would produce wheat, corn, oats, barley, tomatoes, apples, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, strawberries, and blueberries, in time. Many of them were to be less of crops, and more of a small garden for Chalandra to keep. The main crops would be wheat, oats, and barely, while the others were merely for their own use.  
A stable was soon to be built, once they had finished building the house. It was nearly half done now, but still lacked a roof, a wall, and all inside walls. Eventually, they would have enough time to complete it, but it was a slow and difficult process. The first time she had seen that land again, it had brought her great sorrow. That was where her woes had begun, in the ashes of her childhood home. Now, it was a symbol of strength to her. After all she had survived, she was home. She and her husband would not forget the pain that it had led to, but they would rejoice in the greatness of their new home. This was where they belonged, and Thane understood that. Together, they had triumphed over all evil, to return to the place of her birth.  
Already, Thane had hitched Aearion up to the fallen tree. In just a few moments, he had felled a tree and began to have his great stallion drag it to the worksite. They had agreed that only a few more of the great old oaks would be cut down, and the rest of the timber would be brought up from the town in order to preserve their forest. Also, every time they cut one down, they would plant a sapling in its stead. Though Aearion was a fine, elegant stallion, he did his work without a fuss. He would gladly haul wood up the mountain, and Avaleth might even help if necessary. Always, they did their masters’ bidding without any kind of protest other horses or animals might give. They did it to the best of their strength, and would work until they dropped if it was their masters’ will.

Ever since Chalandra had returned, Thane had realized he would need a better job. For so long, he had lived week to week, not caring if he had the money to adequately feed and clothe himself. He had taken odd work, and did not care for the salary, so long as he knew it would be enough to put him up at an inn for the night and fill his belly with ale in a hopeless venture of forgetting his past. Now that they had married, he had felt the desperation ever more. They had taken up to renting their modest home and needed a better income for it. Additionally, he desperately wanted to finish the home he had started for her, which he needed money for supplies. Because of this, he had taken a job as a currier with Charles, the owner of the lumberyard for which he had worked, in addition to having taken over the blacksmith shop.  
Instead of being gone for the day, and he was often gone for the night as well, for between his job as a smithy and his currier position on days off, he was gone for days at a time. Chalandra had fought him, wanting desperately for him to decline the job, but he had refused, knowing it needed to be done. She wanted him to stay, though she knew they needed the money. Finally, she had consented, and allowed him to take the job. It was modest work, but brought in a fair bit of money. Once a week, he was gone for two days minimum, but up to four days, depending on where he was hauling the logs. Charles provided the horses and the wagon was always loaded for his journey there. He simply had to drive the team and navigate his way there. Likewise, Charles paid for him to stay at whatever inn was in the particular town when he was there for the night, and therefor paid his living expenses, leaving more money for them to build their home. When they were able to move into that home, they would live off the land, and sell whatever goods they did not need back to the village. It would be more than enough for them, living a quiet life away from the lands that scorned them.  
But for now, it was hard. He was gone oftentimes for three days of the week; she left to keep a lonely few days with little company. She hardly trusted the men of the village, and the women hated her. Tarre would visit her, and she would often go out and ride her mare, but she was alone. She did not ride out to battle, as she would have loved to do. Instead, she tended the hearth and wove in the lamplight. She was now a housewife, not the great warrior she once was. That was her compromise. To give up her grand life of bloodshed and battle to become Thane’s housewife. And though she did not love it, she was willing to do it, for this was all they had ever wanted before, so therefor, she believe she would find contentment in it again. Either way, she had Thane, which made it worthwhile.

When she finally woke that summer morning, they lay together for a time, finding no reason to hurry out of their home. Thane rose from the bed first, and retrieved his shirt from the end of the bed. When Chalandra moved to get up, he shook his head.  
“No, my love, lay a little longer,” he instructed, circling the bed to her side, then kissing the top of her head gently.  
“I should cook for you,” she protested, propping herself up on her elbows.  
“Not this morning,” he returned, turning to the kitchen, though it was only a few steps from the bed.  
“You work too hard. If you will not let me make you breakfast, at least come back to bed.”  
“Perhaps later,” he answered, shrugging as he opened the cabinet beneath the sink.  
In a few moments, the room began to fill with the sweet smell of baking bread. Chalandra lay back onto the bed, sighing heavily as she watched him work. Soon after, he had prepared them each a few ash cakes, which he set on the table with a glass of milk and some honey. Smiling, Chalandra let her feet touch down onto the rough wooden floor and grabbed her robe from the wardrobe. Pulling it around her shoulders, she moved across the bare floor to their worn down, plain table.  
“You treat me as a child,” she laughed, taking a bite of the food he laid out for her.  
“I see nothing array in serving you from time to time.”  
“Perhaps not, yet it is not simply from time to time. It is rather constant.”  
“Whenever I am here, which is not nearly enough,” he sighed, “But soon, we will have the farm.”  
“It will be beautiful,” she added, smiling to him as she took another bite, “It would be such a beautiful place to raise children, and you would make such a good father.”  
She bowed her head a little at the thought. Having realized her words, she pressed her lips together and laid a hand on her stomach, her barren womb.  
“Chalandra,” he murmured, seeing she had upset herself at the very thought.  
Furrowing his brow, he took her left hand, which was sitting on the table.  
“I am sorry, I should not have brought that up,” she apologized, “Thank you for making breakfast.”  
Gently, he squeezed her hand, engulfing her delicate fingers.  
“Never apologize, not to me. You have done nothing wrong, and there is nothing to forgive. I am happy you feel comfortable to share your thoughts with me, and I would never wish you to conceal them, not from me,” he assured her, smiling gently and trying to catch her gaze with his kind grey eyes, “I have told you before, and I will again, I would have you no other way. I do not want you without the imperfections, for the imperfect woman is the one I married. No matter what anyone tells you, I knew full and well who you were and what your past was. I knew everything about you before we married. I do not believe there is a secret you hold from me any longer. Just remember, no matter what anyone says, I knew before we were married, and I still choose you. Because I love you more than anything.”  
“I love you too,” she answered, lacing her fingers into his, “Now, let us look to the rest of our day. I was thinking of taking the crafts into the village, if you would not mind. You are back home for quite a few days this time, which I am so happy about. But I thought perhaps that was something we could do?”  
“I would love to,” he answered, finished the last of his breakfast, “Whenever you are ready.”  
“Give me a little while longer,” she requested, taking the last bite of her cakes and downing the last of her milk.  
As she moved to stand, Thane jumped up and collected her dishes.  
“At least let me clean up your mess.”  
“I made the mess, did I not? Therefore I am responsible for it,” he protested, taking their plates to the sink, “Go get dressed.”  
“Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheek as she returned to her side of the bed.  
She slipped out of her robe, and grabbed her corset, which she laced it up tightly along the front before retrieving her green dress. It was plain, and starting to become worn, but still the best they could afford. Once she had buttoned it down the front, she pulled on her ankle boots and tied them tightly. When she was finished, she pulled her hair up into a loose bun and returned to help Thane. As he finished cleaning the dishes, she dried them and put them away. When they were done, he pulled on his heavy boots and turned to the door.  
Thane took up her large basket of woven goods and slung it over his shoulder. Smiling to Chalandra, he opened the door for her. She passed through, grabbing a cloak on the way out. He closed and locked the door behind him, and they descended down the steps, arm in arm. For many weeks now, Chalandra had been wary to enter the village. She could easily handle herself, but she did not like the judgmental stares that always haunted her. The woman scoffed at her, as she was beautiful. The men, she did not trust, as they watched her every move with devious hunger in their eyes. There were good men too, those who were loyal to their wives and who did not look at others with lust. However, in the time of fallen morals and post war times, many men fell victim to lusty thoughts directed to those other than their wives.  
They made her nervous, wanting to veil her face and avoid them at all costs. She could protect herself, but she did not like to be watched in such a manner. Thane would watch over her, he would keep her safe. She, naturally, carried several knives concealed on her body, but she felt better with him by her side. He carried her crafts for her, and wrapped his arm around her back, clutching her close and keeping her safe from the prying stares. When they found a good area with a large number of passersby, he set the basket down, letting his hand lightly pass over her waist as he did.  
She was not repulse by the gesture, but rather endeared. It was not one of lust, but of true, honest love. She knew he did not take her for granted, but savored every touch of her body. For her, it brought reassurance.  
For a while, they stood together, waiting for someone to be interested in her work. The time passed slowly, as there was not much to do. Finally, one person purchased a pair of socks, then another bought a blanket. It only brought in a little money, but it was all they needed. Just a little more to get them through the harder times. Soon, they would have land, fertile and full of their crops. They would have their own house, one built lovingly by the hands of Thane, his gift to her.  
The time moved slowly, as very few people wanted any of her work. Around noon, Thane went and fetched some lunch for them, bringing her back an apple and a hunk of bread. They ate in silence, sitting on the ledge of an empty building. A little while after they finished their lunch, one more customer came by and purchased a pair of socks. But that was all. For another hour, they sat without anyone so much as glancing their way.  
The cold, the long day with no success, it did not matter. Alluring as she was, Thane needed a minute, just a minute, with her. To touch her, feel the movement of her body. Finally, he smiled to her, and shifted the large basket so it was up against the building. His eyes sparkled with his gentle, tender love. Silently, he took her hand and kissed her cheek. She leaned into his warm body, smiling at the feeling of his lips brushing her cheek. Without a word, he turned to his left, towards the shelter of the abandoned building.  
The empty building had a walkway above them, completely enclosed to serve a purpose no one knew. But under that walkway, to the right, was a sheltered area where the back door was. Thane pulled her back under it, just wanting a moment with her. He knew his limits, but he merely wanted a moment's peace away from the prying eyes of the townsfolk. Gently, he pressed her against the stone wall. His lips found hers and he kissed her, his hands falling onto her waist. That was all, he just needed to hold her for a moment. He held her, gently, but tightly, clinging to the laced bodice she wore that day instead of her leather vest. It was tight against her sides, letting him feel her with some restriction between the vest and the corset she wore underneath. Yet it was no matter. He held her all the same.  
Chalandra had long since shut her eyes, letting herself become completely open to Thane's touch. She let her fingers lace themselves into his hair, pulling him ever closer. For a moment, they had been alone. Then, he heard footsteps behind him. Pulling away, he stepped in front of Chalandra to see Charles.  
"What do you want?" he snapped, sure to block the man's view to Chalandra.  
“Oh nothing, I merely came to see what was happening back here,” he shrugged.  
“And what is it that you found?" he shot.  
“Well, from the looks of it, you seem to be wanting a child.”  
“We were not going to do anything of that sort in so vile a place. I simply wanted a moment to hold my wife without the eyes of the village watching,” he snarled, standing protectively in front of her.  
“Oh, do you not want a child then?" Charles pressed, simply to be an annoyance.  
Thane growled, intending to remain silent, but Chalandra stepped forward.  
"What we do on our time is our business. However, a child is something we want more than anything else. It is not possible though, not for me,” she muttered, touching her stomach.  
“No? You, sir, married a barren woman. Did you even know this when you took her into your home?" he scoffed.  
To all in the village, such a woman would be despicable. To be unable to bear children was a disgrace. Instantly, she knew she should not have said anything, but perhaps such rumors would bring her some peace from the stars of men, for she would be of lesser desire. Chalandra moved to set forward, but Thane moved in his hand front of her, keeping her from passing.  
"I knew full well she would never bear a child.”  
“Did you marry her knowing that? Or did you have to marry her for another reason. Did you lie with her prior to your marriage? You were seen leaving the inn together, from the same room. Why else would anyone take such a woman in? Unless, it's all for her beauty? Besides, a woman who openly admits she is barren is likely to be very grateful with whomever takes her in.”  
“What business of yours is this? I married Chalandra because I love her. I have known her for longer then you could imagine, and that day at the inn was modest. I had not seen her in so long, and she finally returned to me. I have known, I have always known, that she was infertile. But I love her all the same,” Thane answered, his tone portraying his restrained anger.  
“Well then, I suppose I should let you return to your fruitless attempts at childbearing,” Charles snarled as he turned to leave.  
“Thane, calm yourself. It does not matter to me what he says of us. I know the truth, that is all that matters. I already know this is how the village sees me.”  
“Just because he is my overseer does not give him the right to judge my personal affairs. It is not his place to judge me or anything I do,” he sighed, still angry.  
“Please, my love, do not let it bother you. Come back here, hold me again,” she muttered, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
He turned back to her, his anger melting at the sight of her face.  
“Ah, I see even your wife is practiced in the art of women’s manipulation,” he mocked.  
Confused, though knowing whatever he said was indeed an insult, Thane turned back to face the man.  
"What is that supposed to mean?" he pressed, stepping towards him.  
“Your wife, she simply knows well how to play your heart. She had complete control over you, my dear fellow, because of her looks. Do not try to deny it, her grip will only grow stronger.”  
“You speak of the most extraordinary folly,” Thane hissed, seeming to loom over the man despite the fact that he was shorter than Charles.  
“You may say that, but convince me now that you are not of the same low moral? You married a barren woman, knowing she would never have a child. Yet still, you took her as your wife. She feels indebted to you that you married her, thereby sheltering her from society's taunting. In exchange, she clearly is welcome to overlook your lesser appearance when compared to her. Obviously, not a bad life you have going. In fact, she is furthermore willing to overlook your infidelity.”  
“My what?" Thane pressed, rage rising within his veins.  
“You are not a faithful husband, you do not care for her. I've seen you, with other women.”  
Shocked, Thane turned to Chalandra, his grey-blue eyes scanning her face frantically in hopes of preventing her from growing suspicious of him.  
"I do not know what he is saying. I would never,” he swore.  
In exchange, Chalandra simply placed her hand on his shoulder, assuring him she knew of his lies.  
“Now, you may be unfaithful, but did you know your wife is too? Yes, you would have to. She gets around, you know. She is beautiful, and she knows how to use that charm. She gets paid, if you didn't know, at least by the inexperienced. She chases the experienced, just for the thrill of it. Astonishingly, though, is that none of this information seems to pass through your thick skull,” he taunted.  
In response, Thane looked him in the eye, then walked away, gripping tightly to Chalandra's hand. He was not even worth striking. The moment he fell from sight, Chalandra looked up to her stern-faced husband.  
"Thane, you know I would never,” she muttered, terrified that he would believe Charles' lies.  
His jaw was set and his fists were clenched, one around her hand, the other on the basket of her goods.  
“No, my darling. I know you would not do that to me,” he replied, setting down the basket again.  
His face relaxed, and his voice softened again. Smiling a little, he placed his hand on her cheek his warm, gentle hand, and kissed her lips.  
"I know you would not,” he repeated.  
“It is not just as he says. I did not marry you to shield myself from social shame. If I had of not been with you, I would have made a life elsewhere, far away from the towns. I would not have needed someone to stand behind, to hide me from their mockery.”  
He smiled again, and took her hand, far more gently this time. Lifting the basket onto his shoulder, he let his hand move from her hand to her far shoulder, pulling him against his side.  
"I know. There is no need for you to justify yourself, not in any way that I do not already know,” he assured her, “Let us go home, there is no need for us to continue to be out here, whilst the town views us so harshly. Besides, it is time for us to return home.”  
Chalandra nodded, and briefly glanced up to the fading light in the sky. Following close behind him, she held tightly to his hand.  
“I am sorry he treated you that way today,” she sighed.  
“It is not your fault. Too many of the men of this village are jealous of you. They desire to have you, although I have been blessed enough to have won you. They hate me because of it, but that is a small price to pay for having you as my wife,” he answered, squeezing her hand, “They see me for what I am, and for what I always have been, a man who has never fit in among his people, nor among theirs. One who is unspeakably blessed by a beautiful wife, one who is far and above what he deserves.”  
“You may say that, and even believe it, but if I have ever allowed you to think that was true, I have fallen short indeed. You are a handsome man who is far kinder and more thoughtful than any other I have ever met. One who I would not trade for anything. I find it difficult that they treat you so, for they never act that way when it is just me. It is the women who I struggle with then.”  
“I do not wish to take on the role as head of household, and certainly not the one who commands you, for you are my equal, but in this situation, I am going to. I do not want you to go out without me. I do not trust these men, nor do I trust their minds. There are many a good man amidst them, but I do not trust the majority of them. I do not wish for you to go out into the village unescorted. If Tarre is with you, I trust you will be safe. It is not that I do not trust you, for I know you can handle yourself. However, I do not wish for you to be attacked, even if you do give him due justice, you do not need to be in that situation.”  
“You know I can handle myself. I never go out unarmed,” she replied firmly, for though she was thankful for his caution, she did not like the idea of being given such restraints.  
“It is not you I do not trust, it is those you may encounter. I know you would serve justice, but I do not want you to be caught in that situation.”  
“Perhaps so, but I can make them all afraid if anything happens just once. Nothing will happen to me, I can take care of myself. Besides, I will need to get the shopping, even when you are away.”  
“I am never away for more than a few nights, I will bring back enough food for you to last however long I will be gone.”  
“You are willing to do that, simply because you believe I could be put into harm’s way, even though you know I can handle myself?”  
“Of course,” he answered, opening the door for her as they approached their home.  
Opening the door for her, he ushered her inside.  
“Thane, I do not believe I can abide by that. I cannot simply dwell in this house at all hours because you are afraid of what could happen. I assure you, it will not. I lived twenty years alone, with no one but my own strength and my skill to protect me.”  
“I understand, I do, but I still do not like the idea of you going out alone.”  
“You may not like it, but many untrained, weak women go out everyday and return unharmed. I am a warrior, and although I appreciate your concern, I cannot simply sit back while you are gone. I gave up my blade to marry you, at least temporarily, but I cannot give up my freedom.”  
Sighing deeply, he nodded, then said: “I understand. I cannot and would never force you, but I ask that you are careful. When possible, please, take Tarre with you, if you cannot have me. Do not go out late, nor in the early morning, and always take a weapon with you. Do not enter the town without several knives, and always lock the door behind you.”  
“I will, I always do.”


	28. His Offering

With her basket looped on her arm, she strolled down the dirt street. Though it felt restrictive and unnatural to do so, she wore a faded green dress, in good condition and clean, but not in its prime. They could not afford new clothing, so she continued to make do with what they had. She would never have complained though, for she felt little need to have newer, more desirable clothes.  
Rounding the corner, she heard the sound of a metal hammer ringing out from the shop. It was a rhythmic, heavy sound, one that she was rather unused to. Quickening her pace, she soon came into view of the shop. Thane had his back turned to her, hunched over a sword as he beat it smooth and even. In the dim of the shop, the only light stemming from the roaring fire in the stove, she could just make out the scrapped pile of swords, waiting to be either sharpened and reshaped, or turned into new ones.  
Despite the nearly overwhelming smell of hot metal and melting iron, she neared him a few more paces. Even just outside, it was near unbearably hot. She had been to a smithy shop a few times in the past, but had always forgotten how hot and unpleasant it was. Even from where she stood, she could see the sweat on the back of his neck.  
“Thane?” she called out meekly, hoping he could hear her over the din of his blows.  
When he failed to respond, she called out again, this time a little louder: “Thane!”  
Hearing her voice, he straightened up and set aside his hammer. Surprised, he turned around, pulling off the leather gloves he wore and wiping his clammy hands on his apron. In his eyes, she did not see anger, or shock, but a bit of shame.  
“Chalandra, what are you doing here?” he asked gently, stepping out of his shop and attempting to usher her away.  
“You forgot your lunch, so I had a mind to bring it to you,” she answered, holding out her basket to him, “I thought we might eat together as I am here now.”  
“Well certainly, I should be happy to,” he replied, trying to turn her away from the stand, “Let’s go eat just outside of town. It’s a bit more pleasant there.”  
Though he did not say much, she could tell he was ashamed to see her here. She had never ventured to this part of the town before, and prior had not had a mind to visit him whilst at work. Her desire to must have stemmed from some feeling that he was taking all the hardship while she did naught but the bare minimum. Even when he was away, she did little other than the very basic chores and tended to the house. She knew he worked hard, but she had not expected him to be ashamed of his work.  
They made the short walk outside of the compressed shops in silence. He trailed behind her just a few steps, his head a bit lower than usual. Somehow, she felt bad, as though she should not have come. Still, she wanted to be a part of his life, even when it was filled with toil and sorrow. They were married, after all.  
Once outside of the row of shops, she turned to the right, across the road, and took a seat against a tree on the cool grass. Setting her basket next to her, she looked up at Thane, who lowered himself to the ground next to her. Without a word, he pulled back the cloth that covered the basket and drew out a few pieces of dried meat, leaving the far larger portion for her. She took a few strips as well, and began to work her way through them. Finally, she felt compelled to break the silence.  
“What is the matter, Thane?” she inquired gently, knowing he was upset about her coming.  
“Nothing, nothing at all,” he replied gently, shaking his head.  
“Do not lie to me,” she scolded, attempting to meet his gaze, “I know when you are hiding the truth from me. Though to what end I cannot distinguish.”  
“I do not see what would be array? You merely brought me lunch.”  
“One would think, and yet you have been silent and offput the entire time. It is as though you did not want me to see where you work,” she remarked, her voice gentle, but firm, “You did not want me to know, did you?”  
Taking a deep breath, he glanced away for a moment before returning her gaze and saying: “Perhaps I was wrong to desire such, but I did not. I would have preferred that you did not come. Not because I do not desire to be around you, but because you do not need to know the struggles which are my own.”  
“They are not just your own, though, are they?” she asked, taking his hand, “They are the struggles and toils that should be shared with one’s wife.”  
“I do not wish to burden you with such things. You do not need to know of the menial struggles I face. They are nothing compared to what you face, and nothing compared to what you gave up to become my wife. I will gladly work day and night if it means I am able to provide you with a comfortable living. I consider such a thing honorable, and in the past, I have not looked to draw attention to it. I do not wish to lay such burdens upon you.”  
“I think that is rather unfair. I should be given the right to be apart of your life. You are closing me out, preventing me from truly being your wife. I do not desire a comfortable living if it means you have to work as you do.”  
“It is the work that is necessary in order to provide a home for you. I have not, for a moment, considered that not worthwhile or as too much to be asked of me. I am your husband. It is my duty to provide for you. More than that, it is my privilege.”  
“And I am not attempting to strip you of that, for I admit your dedication. I appreciate your sacrifice. I only wish you would have permitted me to be a part of it. You always put me first, and I love you for it. It is not something I would ever ask you to change, for I know you would not. I only ask that instead of hiding these things from me, you share them. I deserve to know.”  
Though he did not desire to admit she was right, there was little else he could do. She deserved to be his equal, not kept in the dark, no matter how much he wished to merely take such burdens upon himself. She had given up so much for him, that giving her a life without worry and without the restraints of knowing his toils was the least he could do. It was not that he did not want to share those things with her, it was that it hardly felt right. She was so free, not laden down with such worries. There was no reason to give her things to be concerned about.  
“I am sorry,” he finally muttered, his voice sincere, but still a bit firm, “I only did it because I thought it was best. I may have been in the wrong, but I stand by my choices. I truly only want the best life for you, one that is not laden with worries and thoughts of my hardships. I realize that it may have been unfair to have kept you in the dark, simply because we are married, but I do not regret having done it.”  
“You have never wanted anything but the best for me, that much I know. I only with you weren’t so stubborn with your morals. For once, I would not mind if you came home grumpy and complained about your aching back and your swollen feet. It is not right that you always hide such things from me, leaving me in the dark with nothing to guide me. I can only guess as to what kind of things you are facing for you do not share them.”  
“I will not be changing anything with the way I act when I am home. You know I would never act as such with you. However, I will perhaps share a bit more, if you desire, though I am not entirely pleased with it.”  
“I am your wife. If you do not open yourself up to me, I am nothing more than a kept woman who is there to tend your house and warm you bed. I am your companion and your equal, nothing less.”  
“I would never ask you to be anything but my equal, that I swear to you.”  
He knew she was right, that he had to agree, but it still felt wrong to burden her with such things. Though he would not be very pleased about it, he would tell her a bit more, for he was a man of his word. She was so delicate, so perfect. The being he never deserved, yet who remained faithful to him. Because of that, he could not do anything but believe she should be protected from the truth of his life.  
At the end of every day, all he felt was the desire to return to her side. If any invited him to the tavern, he could do little other than answer that he was and tired, and ready to see his wife. That always came as a mystery to them, for they did not have the same marriage that he did. Had they of, they would have understood fully why. They were still fairly newlyweds, but not so new that they did not know what their lives would be like years from now. The same, some ways, perhaps, but different in many still. The only thing he knew for certain is that he would love her only more. He could never watch his love slip, nor diminish. She was his life, his entire world, and he would do anything he had to in order to make her happy. If it meant bleeding out the last drop of blood from his veins simply to put a smile on her face, then that was what he would do.  
Some said that children shifted the love from the parent to the child. While he knew such a thing was an impossibility for them, he would continue to dream. However, he also knew that if it ever came to pass, it would not be that way for them. It could not be. He loved her deeply, and having a child would only strengthen his love for her. A child would be loved beyond all else, but not beyond her. It would be the perfect combination of them, but never overshadow its mother. Of course, it was only a dream.  
What was not a dream was the mother. The perfect wife whom he loved dearly. She sat before him, the sun shining upon her golden tresses. He would make good on his promise. He would tell her, how he felt, when she asked, but no more. It may have been a bit selfish to keep such things to himself, but he could not help but find himself wanting nothing every time he looked to her. He would never complain of an aching back, nor swollen feet, nor calloused, blistered hands, for she would want to tend his wounds, and that would only feel wrong. But tell her of his day? That was possible. That could be done.


	29. Discrepancies

Despite her constant biddings, Thane had not woken her as he left. She always slept through his leaving unless he woke her, but he never did even though she requested him to. She knew it was out of love for her, as he wanted her to sleep well. Once he left, she never slept as peacefully. It was mostly due to his absence, as she longed for him by her side. His presence brought her a sense of peace and security. She knew, no matter the cost, he would watch over her and protect her.  
Sighing, she rose from bed and yawned, still tired despite her good night's sleep. The sun had risen an hour or two prior, and warm morning light now flooded the kitchen. Quickly, she mixed up a little wheat flour with water, and oats. Had Thane been there, he would have slipped a sprinkle of sugar into her mixture. But he was not home. Since she was alone, she would eat it without sugar. There was no need to waste sugar on something so trivial. Instead, she put her bland mixture into the coals of the fire to cook. Thane had rekindled the fire and put more wood on it for her before leaving, so she returned to the bedroom in order to change.  
As her meal was cooking, she laced herself up in her corset. Then, she stepped into her pale green dress, faded and worn, but still served its purpose. Finally, she laced her leather bodice over her chest, then tied her apron around her waist. Slowly, still trying to rise herself from the nighttime, she shuffled out into the kitchen and pulled her cakes out of the fire. They were golden brown on top, so she ate them with a little water.  
Once she had finished her breakfast and cleaned the dishes, she gathered up the washing. All of her and Thane's dirty clothes were collected and dumped in a heap by the kitchen. Grabbing her two large wooden buckets, she prepared to leave for the well, from which it was far easier to get washing water then from her little pump inside. Before leaving, she took one of her small knives and nestled it in her bodice, hiding it from view but keeping it assessable. Quickly, she braided her hair and departed through the front door, locking it behind her.  
Outside, she inhaled deeply and let the cool morning air fill her lungs. It brought new energy to her body as she walked to the well. The trip was always lonely, as the village women despised her for her beauty. Several men would whistle to her, but she would simply ignore them. If they tried to speak to her, she would brush them off quickly. She was not afraid, but rather annoyed by their betrayal of their own, and her vows.  
As she walked down the street, people bustled by her. Many did not look at her twice, while many others stared at her as she moved silently down the way. Some judged her, few knew why. They simply felt that she was different, and because of that, hated her. Men chuckled softly, woman sneered and scoffed. She was an outcast. An object of desire and opportunity in men's eyes. An object of spite and hatred in women's. For the first time in her life, she felt just as she had years prior, rejected and hated by all those around her. Before, she had been an escaped slave. If any knew or asked about her story, they might have pitied her. Now, if any knew her story, they would hate her more, not pity her. She had reigned terror on those around her, destroyed families and killed. She was of an outcast, slaughtered race. Those who the world had proclaimed to hate.  
Her head hung low, she waited in the long line for water. She kept to herself, while the other women laughed and chatted. She was not a part of their society. She had married a very respectable man, and they considered her a threat. Rightly so, but it was still hard to bear. With her, she her brought her large urn to fill and wash their dirty clothes in the water she collected. No other woman there, large or small, had such a sizable vessel, simply because of their lack of strength. If they needed the same amount of water, they would either have their husband collect it, or would take several trips. Not she. She only needed one trip, and was able to carry the heavy load without difficulty. She was strong, and for that, she was hated.  
As she stood in the long line, several women, once she neared the front of the line, pushed past her.  
"Excuse me,” she said sharply, gaining their attention.  
“What?" one of the women sneered back.  
“I was here long before you. If you need water, get in line and wait like the rest of us,” she snapped.  
"Too late. Get back to wherever you came from, immigrant! You're not wanted here. Not by us, not by our husbands, not by anyone.”  
Chalandra shut her mouth and set her jaw. How could she keep silent against such insults? She had to, if only for Thane's sake. They would be cast out of society should she stand up against these women, and that was not something she could risk. Drawing in a deep breath, she continued to wait for her turn, despite being pushed aside. The women kept on chatting, just taking a longer time than was necessary, simply to put her in her place so to speak. They wanted her to realize that she was unwelcome and if she did wish to stay, she had to respect their social status. She had to realize she was the lowest of the low.  
It did not matter to her how she was viewed in society. Instead, she could not stand that they treated her so disrespectfully. In her days of old, the time she remembered so well, she had felt the same way. It was not judgmental ways that she despised it, she did not wish to be held highly in regard, but simply treated fairly. She had always been an outcast, as was her life. Finally, she slipped her way in between them and pulled several bucketfulls up to fill her jug with. One of the women spotted her.  
"I believe your time here is done,” the woman smirked, "You really should be going home now.”  
“I will draw water, just as the rest of you have, and then I will return home,” she replied calmly.  
“Is there going to be a problem with you here?" one of the older women asked.  
“I have held my tongue and stayed my anger as you mistreated me as disregarded me entirely. Do not test me and my patience,” Chalandra shot, her voice firm.  
“Do I need to fetch my husband?" one asked.  
“Nah, we can take her ourselves,” interrupted a younger, red haired woman with a high, shrill voice, pulling out a small knife, "Get outta here.”  
“Am I to be threatened by that weapon?" Chalandra laughed, "I believe that is more of an embarrassment then anything.”  
“Won't be so funny when yer bleeding,” she smirked.  
“Go on then, fight me. I am dying for a good scuffle, but you hardly seen a fair opponent. I give you one more chance to back down, otherwise, you chose your own fate,” she warned.  
“Just get outta here,” the oldest woman shot, "And this well is no longer open to the likes of you. And remember, we know where you live.”  
“Go on, bring your husbands, challenge me if you will, but I shall stay here,” Chalandra answered, then finished drawing her water and departed down the steps.  
She was so calm when faced with conflict, and honestly was desperate for a good fight, whether hand to hand or sword to sword. When she returned home, she found her thirst for war had not been suppressed. As she began to wash all the laundry, her urge for blood and battle called even stronger. By the time she had hung the laundry to dry, her hands were shaking with need for action. Tarre was due to stop by, and with any luck, that would be soon. Reluctantly, she decided to make some lunch for whenever he arrived. At least then, she would have the idea of order and control, rather than the disrespect the village gave her.  
Time dragged alone as she warmed stew over the fire. She had chopped up some carrots and some onions, then mixed it with chicken and water, then added a little rice. It was a simple meal, but she knew Tarre would appreciate the gesture. Besides, she would not have to make a second dinner, she would eat the leftovers that night with Thane. Just past noon, as promised, a knock came at the door. Sighing with relief from her boredom she answered the door.  
"Tarre, how are you?" she asked.  
“Very well my lady, and you?" he answered.  
“It is not easy Tarre, going from warrior to homemaker. I thirst for war, for battle. I need that energy, the kind you get when you protect those from those who would bring harm. I miss my former life, the life I gave up for Thane. I mean, I love being his wife, it is wonderful. There are so many rewards, so much I never imagined to be so wonderful, but also, there is that longing. Today I nearly beat up another woman because she pushed past me in line for water. They threatened me, and I held my ground, but I wanted to, I honestly did, I wanted to beat them up. I knew I could take them, I knew it would satisfy my urge to fight, but I knew it was wrong. Still now I feel that calling, that call to battle, to fight, to war. I need to go back to that life, Tarre, I need to fight again.”  
“My lady, your time will come again someday, that much I am sure of. All your skills will not be wasted. Your time will come again,” he assured her.  
“Thank you Tarre, but it does not ease my burden for the time being. However, would you like some food?" she offered, retrieving two bowls from the pantry.  
She filled them both with stew, then handed one to Tarre.  
"I apologize, it is not much, but at least it is something.”  
“My lady, I appreciate whatever you give me. This will be the first meal in several days that has not been from the wild,” he replied.  
“Then please, visit me more often. I am terribly bored here, and so often alone. You can come around any time, whether or not Thane is here. You can always help with the housework,” she requested.  
“I would be my honor, my lady,” he replied.  
Chalandra smiled, and nibbled at her food a little. It was difficult for her to even sit and eat, so strong was her bloodlust. Finally, she stood up and grabbed two of her knives out of the drawer, then grabbed one of her stones to sharpen them with. Tarre looked at her now distracted face. She was pleased, a faint, small smile crossed her face. As she pulled the knife across the stone, the sound alone sent chills down her spine. It was the feeling she had longed for so long. The feel of the quiver of the knife as she pulled it across the stone. The raking, scraping feeling as her weapon was sharpened for battle. It left thin, white lines across the stone and let the dust from the stone loose, drifting about the room.  
Tarre sighed, and continued to eat. He knew she was growing tired of being a wife, a lowly housekeeper. A woman as great as she was not meant to sit at home and weave, she was built for battle and war. Meant to watch the life drain from her enemies, not wait for her husband to return home. But there was still admiration in him for her choice. He knew that she, more than anything, loved Thane. She would never let him go, and he respected that. They belonged together, he could see it in their eyes. However, they belonged in battle together. Yet Thane was a peaceful man, having been at war all his days. Chalandra, on the other hand, was a warrior, having been sheltered from the world and abused by it all her days. Both of them could make a stand, both of them could fight. Thane did not want to, but he was not blind to the desires of his woman so dear. Tarre knew that. He knew that Thane did his best for Chalandra, and that he frequently took her out for hunting and horseback rides. But it was not enough, and Tarre knew it.  
Once they had eaten a bit, she rose from the table, retrieved a broom from the closet, and opened the door. Taking a deep breath, she began to sweep the steps and porch of their little house.  
“My lady, why do you perform such a menial and lowly task?" he questioned.  
“While it may not be as great as the feat I have just performed, it is a necessary task that has fallen on my shoulders. Just as I have taught you, you must perform every task, no matter how lowly, to the best of your ability. It is your responsibility, and you must take pride in that. It is for Thane, no one else, that I now sweep these stairs. He needs a housewife, but does not expect it. He never asks it of me, but instead I do it so he need not. That is my small way of showing my love, in performing this chore.”  
She understood his confusion. If it were not for Thane, she would not be standing in this position. But she knew he appreciated every little thing that she did. That was what loving her meant to him. He appreciated her without words, but without boundaries.  
“My lady, allow me to do this work at the very least,” he insisted.  
“I am almost finished now Tarre, there is no need. However, I know that you are a good man, and that someday you may find a woman to marry. I want you to remember this. When you see her doing housework, no matter how angry you are with her at the moment, do it for her. It will bring you closer. It will forever tie your marital bonds, if, no matter how long you are married, you still put her needs above your own,” she promised.  
“My lady, I am not one who plans on marrying. I have too many other duties,” he corrected.  
“I will need you, someday. I hope you do not neglect marriage because you believe it is not important enough. You will need someone to hold Tarre, and someone to hold you. Dendä, even now, are not meant to be alone forever. For a time, yes, but not forever. We strive for companionship. We need it, and we thrive on it,” she explained.  
“I have a duty to you, and a duty to those around me. It would never be right for me to set aside all my skills, my promises. The promises I made to you, and in consequence, to the world of men. Now, nor ever, is the time for me to marry,” he protested.  
“Great warriors rise and fall, just as great kingdoms. There is no one, not even a Dendä, who is forever committed to their duty. Their first duty comes to them who they marry, then second to their country and countrymen,” she insisted.  
“That is why I do not intend to marry. My duty will always first be to you, then my country and countrymen. I cannot put another woman above that. It is not the life I am committed to.”  
“Perhaps not now, but do not yet make that choice. You do not know who you may meet, and who you may end up realizing you cannot live a day without. You will yet meet someone who you cannot breathe without. Someone who you need to know is safe and cared for. That, I believe, will drive you even harder than your loyalty to me does. It is called passion, and it comes with love, which in turn, is the most powerful of all motives,” she promised, "But come, let us finish our meal,” she invited, opening the door and ushering him in.  
Again, they sat at the table together.  
"I do not mean to argue your beliefs, but I must ask you another question on the matter,” he requested.  
“Go ahead,” she laughed.  
“I mean to disrespect, but if your love for Thane is so strong, does that not fulfil your need of any kind of war. Is your passion not enough with him? That you should still be filled with desire for war and blood?" he asked.  
“Both yes and no. Under normal circumstances, yes, my desires would be fulfilled by his side and as his wife. But, this is not a normal situation any longer. As you know, when I was restored to life, my entire body was changed. I am the ultimate warrior. My mind is keener, my body is sharper and more deadly. It is because of this that I still feel a lust for war and battle. My duties, unlike yours, cannot be put aside for marriage. I am with Thane again, but at a price, and that price is my duty to protect this world. When the time comes, no matter how many I have trained, I will be called to step forward again. That is my destiny. A destiny that you do not share, nor would I wish for you to.”  
“I will follow you to death and ruin, my destiny is by your side, in life and death,” he vowed.  
Chalandra nodded, though she did not wish the same fate upon Tarre. There was something, something deep inside her. It told her, promised her, that his fate and hers would not be the same. There was something, something that kept their destinies constantly intertwined. A story not yet told, one that would mean more than any other thing they had done together. One that would change their very lives, and perhaps even the fate of the world.  
“My lady,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, "Is every alright?"  
“Certainty, Tarre, I was just thinking,” she replied, smiling to hide her fears.  
For a while longer, they sat in silence as they finished their midday meal. Once they were done, Chalandra gathered the bowls and deposited them in the basin before starting to pump as she cleaned them. Once the bowls were washed, she put them away. Sighing, she turned back to Tarre.  
"Forgive me, but I have other chores to do. You are, however, welcome to stay. I quite enjoy the company,” she assured him.  
“By all means.”  
Nodding, she took the large water jug from earlier and pushed it farther back in the corner. Going back through the door, she placed her slender, pale hand on the sheets to see if they were dry yet. Finding them still damp, she returned to the indoors and stirred the pot of leftovers from the midday meal. Again, she sighed as she sat down in the far corner, in front of her loom. Slowly, she began to weave the colorful fabric. The one she was currently working on was a mix of light blue, dark blue, and white thread, made to look like the sky.  
"That is quite beautiful. May I inquire as to who it is for?" he asked.  
“I sell my work most often. However, after this morning I doubt anyone will want to purchase my goods,” she answered, smiling, “Though I can scare afford to keep it for myself.”  
“Then it is a pity, that a woman of noble blood and fate, the woman who holds the fate of the world in her hands, is so scorned and disrespected.”  
“Perhaps so, but they are ignorant. I would say I would not hold it against them, but I fear such words come too late. I am trying, Tarre, to avoid the bloodlust and desire for war. This is the first time I have failed since I have come here, yet I fear I will turn back to those ways.”  
“You are strong, you will be able to hold it at bay.”  
“I hope you are correct,” she replied, nodding, “Either way, you best be getting back to your duties. The peace is still shaky, and there is obvious unrest as we have seen today. If you need anything, come to me. I can always use the reprieve from this ordinary life.”  
“You know I shall,” he replied, standing and making his way to the door, “The same to you, though. If you ever should need me, send word.”  
“Thank you,” she said, nodding.  
He disappeared from view, closing the door behind him and Chalandra was once again left alone, a mere housewife.


	30. Envy

Upon taking a seat in the armless chair, the dark-haired woman made her way across the room to him.  
“You best hope this is not a waste of my time. I can think of many better ways to spend my evening then here, in this vile place.”  
“I fear it will not be,” she answered, taking the seat across from him, “Though I rather wish it was. I find no joy in bringing this news to you.”  
“You had better get on with it. My patience does not last forever, at least when I could be spending time with my wife instead.”  
“Straight to the point, then?” she asked, almost surprised.  
“Please, I very much desire to know what is so important that you have felt the need to tear me away from my home on one of the few nights I get to spend there.”  
“I did not want to meet with your wife present, for it is about her,” she explained, “I am sorry to tell you this, but your wife has not been a faithful companion to you.”  
“Do you know how many times people have told me that before?” he inquired, “I have had men and women both try to pull me away from her by telling me she is unfaithful, or that she has been with other men. And I can assure you, not once has it been true.”  
The woman swallowed hard, realizing he was not pleased with her.  
“I…I…” she stuttered, unable to find the words, “I don’t know what else to tell you. I have seen her. I am not loyal to any man or woman, nor do I have anything to gain from this. I simply thought you should know. My husband was unfaithful, and I was told about it from an outside party. I was extremely grateful to know, so that I was able to understand his distance was not my fault, but his own. I was simply trying to return the favor, given that I have seen her about town and in her own home with half a dozen different men.”  
“I appreciate your concern, but I do not doubt my wife’s loyalties. She has no reason to search out another, for she knows I fully love and care for her. She likewise has never shown any disapproval of her life. Whatever it is you say she is doing, it is clearly not as it seemed.”  
“I am sorry, I was only trying to be helpful,” the woman pleaded, “You say that, but how do you know she is fully satisfied with her life? With everything? Why is it so difficult to believe that she may have become disloyal to you? I am not trying to make your business my own, I am only trying to be of assistance.”  
“You say that, and yet you were only trying to tear us apart, for what reason I cannot distinguish. However, I know it to be true. Now, I am going to return to my wife, so I bid you a good night,” he explained, rising from his chair and rushing to the exit without looking back.  
Outside, the cold air rushed over him, providing some much needed relief. Taking a deep breath, he sucked in the frosty air, helping him appease his anger. He defended his wife to the woman, but at the same time, he always feared Charles’s rumors to be true. Though he hated to think of it, he was away often, and usually for a good while at a time. He had to talk to her now, to bring forward his concerns and his fears. If he was lucky, they would be unfound, but he would rather know the truth than live in the dark.  
When he finally reached their modest home, he pulled open the door, stomped his boots on the entryway, and pushed the door open. Once inside, he pulled the door closed behind him and lowered the latch. Hanging his satchel on the peg beside the door, he made his way into the kitchen. Chalandra was bent over the fireplace, stirring whatever food was in the pot. Having heard her husband enter, she tapped the ladle on the side of the pot before hanging it beside the fireplace. Smiling, she turned to him, wiping her hands on her apron. Slowly, she made her way towards him. Still worried about what the woman had said, he felt himself become a bit more reserved. Instead of greeting her with the usual enthusiasm, he held out one arm for her. She embraced him fully, throwing her arms around his neck. He merely pulled his arm in a little, fearful that the woman was right.  
“I missed you,” she sighed, burying her face in his coat.  
It was then that he felt a tinge of guilt. She was his wife. He had made a vow to her, one that he fully intended to keep. It was possible that she had not been all that he thought her to be, but it was likewise just as possible she was free of all blame and guilt. If the latter were the case, she would not understand why he had suddenly grown distance. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed hard.  
“I need to talk to you, as soon as is possible.”  
“Of course,” she replied, though he heard the change in her tone.  
Instantly, she feared as though something was awry. She knew his tone, his every feeling, and knew everything was not well the moment he opened his mouth.  
“Just let me take the soup off.”  
From the stove, she hauled the cast iron pot. When it was just outside the fire, she set it on the small stone ledge in front of it. Despite the heat of her bare hands against the iron, she felt neither the heat, nor was burned or harmed in any way, for she herself controlled the elements. From the kitchen, she retrieved two bowls, which she filled with the soup from the pot. Once she had dropped them at the table, she got two glasses of water as well as two spoons, she set onto their worn little table. Again, she wiped her hands on her apron, for she was nervous and could think of nothing else to do. Untying it, she tossed it onto the kitchen counter and took a seat at their table, her heart pounding. Thane took the seat across from her, his gaze dropping away from her out of shame. He knew his fears were likely vain, but still failed to shake the feeling. Taking a deep breath, Chalandra tried to seek out his gaze.  
“You said you needed to talk,” she pressed, hoping he would get it over with, “Go on then.”  
Thane shook his head a little and sighed deeply.  
“I am rather ashamed, but I must ask you.”  
“You are free to ask me whatever you may wish or be concerned about. I am not going to judge you,” she assured him.  
“It sounds like folly. I fear you will believe me to be foolish, yet I still must ask, if only to put my fears at rest,” he admitted, “I want you to know, no matter the answer, I will not be angry. I may be disappointed, but not angry. Instead I would likely see it as a shortcoming on my part, not on yours. If what I fear is true, I vow to you, I will not leave you, nor send you away. I only want the truth, nothing more.”  
“Such noble words, yet I do not know what it is you are afraid of. Please, bring me into the light with you,” she requested.  
“Have you been with another man?”  
“What?” she exclaimed, the shock causing her to jolt upright in her chair.  
“Have you been unfaithful to me?” he repeated, hoping to clarify.  
“I do not know where you would have received such an idea, but I can tell you wholeheartedly, that the answer is no. I have never so much as lain eyes on another man who I desired to be with in such a capacity. I could never do that to you, not so long as either of us breathes.”  
“Chalandra, I will not be angry, I simply wish to know the truth.”  
“And the truth I have told you. I would not lie to you, Thane, nor would I betray you like that. I care for you far too much,” she answered wholeheartedly, “You asked for the truth, and the truth I gave to you. In response, I ask that you trust me in my word. I would never try to deceive you. I know you shall always remain by my side, no matter the struggles we together face.”  
“I am sorry if I doubted you, though I could not shake the feeling of dread that they were not lying, but rather telling the truth. I did not mean to distrust you, nor to offend you in any way.”  
“You have done neither, for I know you are simply worried about me in your absence. It is the things we fear to be true that always take the deepest root in our minds, such as the dreadful feeling that either one of us was unfaithful to the other.”  
Without a word, he slid his bowl of soup to the seat adjacent to her, then stood up and moved over next to her. Smiling, she laid her hand, palm up, on the table. He took her small hand in his, folding it into his weathered, yet gentle, grasp. Squeezing it softly, he met her gaze, his kind grey eyes searching for her approval. She returned his glance, maintaining her smile. He returned the gesture, allowing his lips to curl upwards in a smile, though they failed to part. With her left hand, she raised a spoonful of soup into her mouth. For a moment, he watched her, her golden locks free down her back, reflecting the dying light pouring in from the open kitchen window. She had pulled down her bun before he returned, as was evident by the wave of her trellises. No doubt she had expected a very different greeting from her husband than the one she received. She had not been looking for a confrontation about her infidelity, or lack thereof. She had expected him to return home to her with open arms, not with a coldness and a rash conclusion.  
With his right hand, he reached across and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  
“I take it this was not the greeting you expected. I am sorry to have ruined your evening,” he apologized as he ran his knuckles down her cheek.  
Shaking her head a little, she looked up to him again.  
“As I said before, there is nothing to apologize for. I have no doubt you will make it up to me later.”  
“I will, if you would allow me.”  
After taking another spoonful of soup, she swallowed and looked back to him again. He had finally started to eat as well, and was lowering the spoon back to the bowl.  
“You know, it was not a week prior that someone came to me with the same proposition.”  
Startled, he choked on his soup, sputtering a little as he set his spoon down. Clearing his throat, he managed to croak out a response.  
“To make it up to you?” he asked, grabbing his glass of water and taking a sip.  
“No!” she exclaimed, realizing what he meant. “The idea that you were unfaithful to me.”  
Surprised, he set down his water, furrowing his brow as he met her gaze.  
“And you never once mentioned it to me? You never wanted to ask?”  
“I did not need to” she replied, shrugging a little as she pressed her lips together, “I trust you.”  
“You mean to tell me you did not harbor fear that I was untrue to you.”  
“Perhaps I did, briefly,” she admitted, “But when next I saw you, any sliver of doubt was erased from my mind.”  
Thane could not help but smile at her attitude, as well as her trust. At the same time, he felt a pang of guilt. She trusted him, even though he was gone so long and so much.  
“I am sorrier now, my darling, that I failed to trust you. You had more faith in me than I did in you. I should never have doubted you.”  
“No, but you still had every right to,” she replied, truly unfazed and not upset by his accusations.  
Taking a deep breath, he set down his spoon and pushed back his bowl. They were both nearly finished with their dinner. Again, he let his hand return to her cheek. She closed her eyes, surrounding herself to the warm feeling of security. Running his fingers down her neck and down to her shoulders, he finally reached her hand, with which he intertwined his fingers. Rising from his seat, he held out his other hand for her, assisting her to stand as well. Looking up at him, she took his hand and lifted herself. His strong arms supported her, helping her to stand. As she stood before him, her gaze having fallen to his feet, he smiled a little, though it faded quickly as he leaned in. Pressing his lips against her cheek, he savored the softness of her pale, silky skin. It was perfect, without blemish, as she was, and always would be, in his eyes. One kiss after another, and he worked his way to her lips. When they met, she returned his gesture, no less loving or passionate than him. His hands fell to her waist, their gentle, though firm, grasp taking root on her hips. In turn, her arms encircled his neck, pulling him ever closer to her. This was her home. It did not matter where they went, nor what they did, all they needed was each other to find solidarity and safety. It did not matter, to her, that he had rushed to conclusions, for it was out of fear he had believed them. He knew his error, and she would not hold it against him.


	31. Motives

Thane had been gone, almost the whole of everyday for nearly three weeks now. Between his work at the smithy’s, his work on their house in the mountain valley, and his currier work for Charles, he was at home for far less time than Chalandra would have liked. She rarely complained, and never to him, for she knew it would not serve her any good to make him worry or feel pity for her trapped at home whilst he was away, working for her. Some days, she felt guilt for feeling so trapped and bored, but she likewise knew it was selfish to feel so when he was working so tirelessly so that she might have a good life.  
Still, having him to speak with and to entertain her was always the best part of her days, though he often was not up for long after he returned home. The little time she had, to speak and be with him were still enough to keep her going, though that night, he returned home long after dark. When he finally passed through the door, she was about to put aside his dinner for another day, assuming he would not be eating that night given the late hour. He ate in silence, clearly worn from his day, then retired to their bed as soon as he had cleaned out his bowl.  
Knowing he was tired, she had done her best to give him his space. To play the role of a housewife, seen and not heard, and for the time he spent eating, she had succeeded. His distance worried her, though she likewise knew he was simply exhausted, rather than quietly brewing anger for her. Yet, though she had struggled to stay silent, once she was seated on the bed pulling off her boots, she could play the part of the meek woman no longer, not when she had earlier reached a realization that startled and stirred her, no matter how tired he was.  
“Thane, has it not occurred to you, that these people are trying to divide us?” she inquired, swallowing hard after she spoke.  
“How do you mean?” he asked in return, taking a seat on the bed across from her, “What makes you believe anyone here would care enough to try and split us up?”  
She shook her head slowly, as though trying to think over the words. Since Charles had hunted them in the market, tried to force himself between them and incite fury in Thane, she had worried. There had to be some reason, some intention in his ways, the tricks and the constant words of others trying to suggest their marriage was not all it seemed.  
“Why do they care so much about us?” she finally asked instead, brushing a few strands of her hair aside, “They have tried to do harm to our marriage, and I cannot imagine why they should even care.”  
“They care because you are a prize, Chalandra,” Thane informed her, his tone serious and firm, “They desire you, and if you are married to me, they see they cannot have it, at least not now. The men want to try their luck with you, and they assume that if I leave you, you will be more willing.”  
“I still do not see how it matters. They clearly want us apart. Can you not see that? Everything that has happened in the last few weeks, they are attempting to drive a wedge between us, one which they assume we will be trapped with and fall apart. But I must ask you again, why do they care? It is not because I am beautiful, that is too shallow.”  
“Men are shallow, my love.”  
“I know they are, but I doubt even the most corrupt are that much so. There is more.”  
Realizing he could not defeat her, he nodded slowly and turned to face her a bit more closely.  
“What do you believe they are attempting to do? Why do you believe they are doing it?”  
“It must be Charles,” she finally said, meaning it, “It must be him. I think he knows.”  
“Knows what? My darling, you have spent so many years on the run, fighting and hiding, that you cannot see past your obsession for reasons. Men are often simply men, shallow and irrational. I do not know what else to tell you.”  
“I knows the ways of men,” she said shortly, “That is not what I mean. He is trying to separate us, to weaken our bond, because I believe he knows who I am. I think he wants us to be weakened in our marriage that he might somehow control me. He wants my power, for I believe he knows what I am capable of.”  
“Chalandra, can you even hear yourself? He is not trying to control your power,” Thane answered, scoffing, “I do not doubt there are some out there who would try and manipulate you, but Charles is a dimwit. He covets your body, nothing more.”  
Realizing he could not see the situation at she could, she relented for a moment, turning away from him. It was not mere chance and coincidence that Charles had become so obsessed with her. It could not be. She knew men could be creatures of lust and driven by such desires, but likewise, she could not imagine anyone going to the lengths he had in order to obtain a woman. She was fair of face, but all the same, she was not so beautiful to warrant all he had done to try and manipulate their lives. There was something more.  
Finally, she moved her legs under the covers and pulled them up around her waist. Looking over to Thane, she shook her head slowly.  
“I disagree, Thane,” she pressed, her voice more firm than it was before, “I can understand why you think I to be chasing phantoms, desperate to find some form of entertainment, but it is not so with this. I may be somewhat beautiful, but I am not enough so to cause him to go to such fruitless lengths in order to drive a wedge between us.”  
Sighing, Thane looked up to the ceiling for a moment then adjusted himself to face her, answering: “Then what is it you believe he is doing?”  
“I believe he means to drive us apart that he might be able to find some inkling of control over me. I do not know what his plan is, but I can imagine that he wants me to be without your protection, in a weakened state by your leaving, threaten to expose my true identity if I do not offer him information. Perhaps it is simpler, he is waiting for me to slip up in anger with him and expose myself, only confirming his suspicions and using me for whatever ill means he had in mind.”  
There she lied. She assumed he coveted the treasure, but Thane knew little of those affairs, and given the nature of the treasure, or what she knew to be the treasure, she meant to prevent him from hearing more of it than he needed to. If he knew what the acclaimed treasure was, he would doubtless understand, and yet, with such knowledge being a burden, she could not bring herself to force that upon him.  
“You see ghosts of fantasy when you are bored, my love. There is nothing to fear. Yes, Charles may be a threat, but if he is, it is because he wishes to separate us that he might take you for his own. That is a far more realistic and dangerous idea than whatever world you have created in which he knows who you are.”  
Slowly, she nodded, knowing he would not agree, so instead, she replied: “Then let us hope our house is finished soon that we might escape the confines of this terrible place and live away from whatever schemes Charles has.”  
“It is nearly done,” he assured her, “We will be leaving this place behind soon. Very soon.”

And so they did. Hardly a week passed before Thane returned home and announced the house was ready enough for them to move into. Though he did not agree with her that the town was trying to divide them, it would certainly bring him a sense of ease to have her hidden away from the eyes of the village. The following morning, he went up to the mountain valley with some of their necessities, including their mattress, while she stayed behind and packed the things they would need immediately. It was not a difficult task, for they did not have much in that barren, dreary little home. There was no questioning it, she would not miss the confinement of the home, nor that of the village. Up in the valley, she would be away, free. There was hard work to be found there, but it would be rewarding, for they would be able to live off the land, and live in peace, together. And for once in her life, she truly, deeply desired a quiet life, with Thane.  
Carrying her box of things, with a blanket over one shoulder and Thane’s satchel on the other, she walked alongside her husband, who was carrying a good deal more than she. As they started up the hill together, she could not help but feel a tinge of pride. He had built this for her, a home that he never expected her to live in with him. He had built it entirely for her memory, not thinking he would ever lay beside her in a bed under the roof he fastened. Instead, he had done it only to live close to her childhood home. Now, they were moving in together.  
The climb took a fair amount of time, as it always did, but they soon reached the top. Her arms were not sore from carrying such a load, but more stiff. Tomorrow, he would take Greyfer down and have the docile gelding haul their furniture up, piece by piece. Aearion and Avaleth would tolerate such work, but would not understand it, so they were of little use for such things. For tonight, they would sleep on their mattress, on the floor, which Thane had hauled up that morning. As they neared the house, she surveyed his work. He had refused to let her see it as he neared completion. Instead, she had been forced to wonder and wait. Today, she got to see it all.  
The little porch which had once sat half-finished was sanded and built out with light wood, with matching railings all around. The roof was fastened of deep wood, slanted so to prevent the rain from sitting there for long periods of time. As she stepped forward to ascend the steps, Thane quickened his pace and set his things down by the door. Lifting his hand, he instructed her to wait. Though confused, she stopped, lowering her armloads down onto the grass growing beside the path he had worn. He came back down, then took her gently by the waist.  
“I have waited so long for this,” he said softly, his warm breath brushing over her face.  
Smiling to her, he lifted her up and held her behind her back and beneath her legs. Kissing her forehead, he started up the steps, then carried her to the doorway. Laughing a little, Chalandra reached forward and set her hand on the cool metal of the door. Pushing it open, she laid her arm around his neck as he carried her over the threshold of the door and into the home he had built for her. As they passed through, the smell of freshly sanded pine consumed her. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. For the first time, she felt as though she was truly home. She had not even seen more than the bare walls and the open room, but she knew she was meant to be here.  
Once inside, Thane set her down. For a moment, she stood still, simply looking around. He had built windows all around so they might benefit from the morning and evening sun. To the left was the kitchen, lined with cabinets and shelves yet to be filled. In the center, looking out to the fields was a sink with a large pump, and a wide glass window through which she could see out. Across the room, where they would likely later put some little benches and a rug, was a brick fireplace, complete with a rack on which she could hang pots. To the right was a wide open space, likely where they would put a table and chairs, though for now, it would hardly be needed.  
Slowly, with tears brimming her eyes, she stepped in a little further. He built all this for her. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the smell of sanded, cut pine. The smell of home. The smell of his labor and his love for her. Turning back to him, she shook her head a little.  
“I cannot believe you did all this for me,” she muttered, dazed by all before her.  
“Of course I did,” he said, stepping up against her and wrapping his arms around her waist, “I love you.”  
“I love you too,” she answered, burying her face in his chest.  
“Do you want to see the rest of it?” he asked, stroking her hair.  
“Of course I do!” she exclaimed, permitting him to guide her down the hallway directly in front of them.  
It was a longer hallway than she expected, containing three doors on the right, and two on the left. Inside there was naught but bare room and a window at the head. She knew what he had built them for, though he hardly could taint such an occasion with such sorrow, so instead, he merely smiled, knowing the truth. They would have to remain empty. He knew it when he built them, yet he built them in the event of a chance. Perhaps they would adopt, or perhaps, she would soon tell him of her growing suspicions.  
Taking her back out and across the main room, he led her down to a door just past where they would later put the table. A short hallway away was their bedroom, just the right size, though far larger than their current lodgings. Along the front wall, the one which faced out to the fields, he had installed windows, though he hung curtains over those. There was a little brick fireplace just to the left of the windows, on the sloping corner, and a cabinet on either side of where their bed would be. It was home. She could not have imagined a more perfect place for them, nor a more perfect time to have moved in. This would be her home now. There was to be no more excursions with Tarre, nor battles with divides. Not now.


	32. Heartless

No matter how much Thane wished to sever all ties with the village, he knew he could not, at least not yet. For now, he was forced to continue hauling lumber for Charles to the neighboring towns. The fields would be plentiful, when they had enough money saved to work them without pay for a year. But the time had not yet arrived, so for now, he continued to take work when he could find it. The smithy’s shop was still his main focus, though he found himself going away more often than he would like.  
This time, it was different. The lumber fields Charles worked were growing sparse, so he sent Thane out to retrieve some of the lumber from one of the outer fields and bring it in to town, where he could then inspect it and send it elsewhere. Charles’ rule of the town was overreaching, extending far beyond his station, and of late, he had begun to moderate the amount of goods being brought into the city though it was not his position to do so. He had started inspecting the loads which came in, ensuring that nearly all the goods which could somehow jeopardize his wealth were taxed heavily, likely for the tax to only be stuffed into his own pockets. Thane had wished to speak out, but likewise wanted to keep his head down and prevent himself from becoming an even greater target to the man.  
Seeing a few men gathered around the lumber he was supposed to be collecting, he stopped his cart a ways away and swung off of it, grabbing his bow as he did. He stepped forward, his body tense and ready to fight. He knew he could strike down any one of the men before him, if only he chose to. All he needed was the lumber. He did not need them, and being the peaceful man that he was, he did not wish to kill anyone in getting to it. Slowly, he moved towards them, his bow and arrow poised and set. He was ready to strike if need be. He would not put himself at risk, not with his wife to feed at home. Not with Chalandra who needed him.  
"I have no time for games. All I need is the lumber. Step aside and let me have it, and no harm will come to you," he explained.  
For a moment, the band of four men was silent. Then the tallest one spoke.  
"You are a carter?" he asked, seeing Thane's large wagon.  
“Yes," he replied gruffly, his gaze turning to him.  
“Would it be possible to hire you?"  
“I would not risk it, not whilst Charles' wrath is upon my head."  
“But as a smuggler?"  
“Never," he muttered. "Now get out of my way,” he shot, moving to begin to load the lumber.  
The three men complied, and stepped aside while he began to load the wood onto the cart. Still, the tallest man pursued him with words, seemingly desperate.  
“Are you a married man then?"  
“Aye,” he replied, though rather quietly.  
“Happily? Or could you use the money to keep her from nagging you about something?" he asked.  
“Very happily,” he shot back, trying his best to ignore their advances.  
“You're a young man, decent enough looking, hard working. Your wife is a beauty then?"  
“Beyond measure.”  
“I've seen a lot of women in my day, never one a husband describes a wife in such a way,” one of the other men jeered.  
“You have not met her," Thane shot.  
“Easy now, boys," the tall man said, annoyed with his companions, "Do you have any children?"  
“No, I do not.”  
“Your wife faithful? I mean, if she is so beautiful, and you are often away, she might get lonely," the shortest man laughed.  
“Beyond measure and life she is faithful, and I to her," he snapped, throwing a log down onto the wagon in anger, "Do you make it a habit to insult those who you wish to gain a favor from? That seems contradictory."  
“No, sir, you are right. I apologize for the inappropriate behavior of my companions. They are wrong to question your private life without ever meeting your wife of whom you speak so highly," the tall one apologized, trying to salvage the deal.  
“I do not seek vindication nor apologies. I do not seek money nor praise. I am simply not interested in your offer," he declined, loading the last of the logs.  
“But what about your wife?"  
“What of her?"  
“Would she not benefit from the money? Again, I do not mean to pry in your private life, but certainly your job does not pay much. You haul logs to and from the fields that is not a great source of income.”  
“Perhaps not, but I will nonetheless take deals my family can ill afford. You are offering something illegal, and I already am a disliked man by my higher ups. I will not do anything to provoke their further wrath. In the off chance that I am discovered, I would be imprisoned, and that is something my wife can ill afford."  
“Take a risk, we are not trouble. We will stay silent, you have our word. Besides, it sounds as though your woman has compromised and married you. Not that I mean to judge, or offend, but the way you speak of her, it is as though you believe you do not deserve her. Do this, take the money, and buy her some nice things. That should not only appease her, but also satisfy you a little.”  
For a moment, Thane was silent, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed deeply and gestured to the men.  
"Go on then," he sighed, “Bring me the goods you are attempting to bring in and I will hide them. You can collect them this evening from my home, up in the mountains.”  
Immediately, the men sprang towards him, thrusting a few large cloth bags into his hands. He dared not look inside, for he knew knowledge of the contents would only make it all the worse. The tall man handed Thane a sack of coins as Thane made his way back to the wagon, hiding the bags beneath his seat, as the bench lifted up to reveal a fairly concealed compartment for storage.  
"Your payment."  
Thane nodded. It was a much larger sum of money then he had seen since the times of old. Nowadays, he was usually paid late and very low. Chalandra had to make all the clothes, and they had no money to build up the house. This would fix that. This was the money he so desperately had been searching for to become self-sufficient. They could live off the land, that would be more than enough. The crops, they would sustain them. They would no longer have to rely on the hierarchy of man, but instead only the town's growing demand for crops and supplies. They would be able to provide food for the people, and would be paid well in exchange. This money, it was his future, and would fulfil his promise to Chalandra.  
Though reluctant, he knew how much he needed the money. Once the goods were well hidden, he swung up on the cart. With a flick of the reins, docile Greyfer let his weight press against the harness. He great stallion hauled the cart, without complaint or protest. He was a larger horse for his breed, and certainly strong enough to haul, though it was so far from his birthright. Down the road they travelled, slowly, but at a steady walk. The horse never faltered nor slowed, he simply continued at his even gait. The day was warm, and dust rose up behind them, clouding the sight of the road behind.  
Thane sighed, his days were long. Yet he knew this money, it was a true blessing though a little risky. If he were to be caught, he could be taken from Chalandra. Charles would not hesitate to throw him in jail. He would not have mercy, as he had always hated him. Finally, he approached the lumberyard, then halted Greyfer and unloaded the lumber. Charles finally came out, though he made him wait a particularly long time that day. Still, Thane did not complain, he knew better. He waited patiently, and Greyfer did not so much as stamp his feet. Finally, the man came out and nearly threw the coins at him.  
"There you go," he growled.  
Thane quickly counted the coins.  
"You shorted me, again," he muttered, waiting for the rest of his payment.  
“I did no such thing. We, Thane, do not have to do business if you are going to accuse me of such a heinous crime."  
“You are right, I was mistaken," he sighed, knowing he could ill afford to argue with the man.  
“That's what I thought. And tell your lovely wife I send my love and look forward to another time," he mocked, his slick, weaselly smile crossing his face.  
“You know as well as I, my wife is loyal to me as a dog is to its master. She would never look to entice, or even consider entertaining a greasy man like yourself."  
"Is that what it's called? Entertaining?"  
“Good day, Charles," he finally shot, cutting off his annoying and inappropriate comments.  
The man had no sense of dignity, nor of bounties. He simply made crass jokes and comments about Chalandra. If he had not been in a position to destroy his life, Thane would have killed the man, or at the very least shown him what pain he could cause.  
“Oh, perhaps then, I should tell her about you?" he asked.  
“What about me?" Thane snapped, already on edge.  
“About how you too are infidel," Charles muttered.  
“You cannot hurt me, you cannot accuse me, because I have never been unfaithful. I never will be. I was not even unfaithful when I believed her to be dead. Know one thing, I will never, not if my life depends on it, be unfaithful to my wife.”  
“I wish I could say the same about her," he chuckled.  
“You already did, Charles,” he said firmly, swallowing his pride.  
Leaving his dignity behind, he turned away and returned to his wagon. He knew all of Charles's words were lies, but it was because he always feared they would be true that they had such power. He knew they would never be true, as he trusted Chalandra, but it he still believed himself unworthy of her unfailing devotion.

The moment he passed through the doorway, Chalandra greeted him with her delightful smile. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, letting him feel the curves of her warm body. For a moment, he longed to hold her. To have her, his wife. But he could not, there was work to be done. Taking in a deep breath, he prepared to explain the situation to her. She would likely be angry, but they needed the money.  
"What is wrong?" she asked, seeing he was uncomfortable.  
“I am sorry, Chalandra. You may not approve, but I have taken a bribe to smuggle goods into the village. I know you do not approve, but hear me out. They offered a large sum of money, very large. I had to do it, for our future.”  
“You did what? Why would you do something like that? You are putting our whole life in danger.”  
“My love," he muttered, trying to be soothing, by knowing all too well that she was right, "All is well, I assure you."  
“Thane, what were you thinking?" she protested, shocked that he had accepted a bribe.  
“I am sorry, I truly am. But we need the money. We need it very badly. And it was a great sum. It is a large sum that will help to support us, to support you. I love you very much, you know that. I would never do anything to intentionally put you into harm's way, but you must understand that I believe you deserve better. You deserve this, a better life. That is what this money will bring. It was worth the small risk.”  
Chalandra shook her head.  
"No amount of money is worth the risk of you being taken away. None," she shot, "Yet what is done, is done. When will the goods be collected?”  
“In the morning.”

With Chalandra in his arms, he fell asleep, though he was on edge through the night. Still, she brought him more peace then he deserved. Sometime past midnight, his sleep was shattered by the insisted, loud pounding at the door.  
"Open up!" a voice cried, angry and unfamiliar.  
Startled, Thane leapt from bed and grabbed his shirt. Pulling it over his head, he grabbed the nearest knife and rushed to the door. Raising his weapon, he prepared to strike as he opened the door just a hair. Outside, there were several town guards.  
"There are reports that you have unauthorized goods in your home, you are to submit to a search immediately," the first one demanded, "Open the door."  
Thane, knowing there was nothing he could do, bowed his head and opened the door for the guards. Instantly, they saw the bags, still unopened but no less damning sitting on the floor. Had it been any other, no one would have thought anything of it, but it was not a mere coincidence, nor were they sent there to search for actual evidence. They were there, searching for an excuse. Any excuse. And bags were enough.  
"Sir, you are under arrest for the harboring of unlawful goods," he barked, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.  
“No, let him be, please. We will do anything, pay any fine. I need him here with me. I need him," Chalandra said softly, distantly, no tears in her eyes.  
She could earn a living, but it would be hard. Yet that was hardly the first thing on her mind. Thane, her husband, was being taken from her. She would never allow it, never. And so now, she knew exactly what she needed to do.  
“There is nothing you can do, ma'am. If you try to interfere, I will arrest you too without further notice,” the tallest guard barked.  
“Do you know who I am? Do you know what I am capable of?" she shot, stepping forward.  
Her heart was pounding, the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She would not let them take her husband away. She would not stand for it. Her mind was focused on only one thing, to save him.  
“Chalandra, no," Thane said firmly, shaking his head.  
His gentle grey-blue eyes found her gaze. There was no mistaking his intentions.  
"Stay there," he said, locking her gaze, “Do not do this."  
Though he begged her to stay out of it, she could not permit them to take him away. Drawing a deep breath, she attempted once more to stay her anger, yet she knew the truth. This was what she had to do. She had to stand as the demon she was before her husband and commit her deeds of vengeance. Anger flickered through her eyes, proving there was naught any could do to prevent her from unleashing her wrath.  
Lips pressed firmly together and eyes locked on her prize, she raising her hand. The man who had shackled Thane jolted forward, clutching at his chest. Without another thought, she clenched her fist partially and he fell in a lifeless heap before her.  
“Chalandra, no!” Thane pleaded again, fighting at the men who attempted to restrain him.  
Though they meant to take him away, he asked her for mercy. Yet there was to be no mercy. In that moment, there was no room for mercy.  
Realizing the true strength and power of the woman, several of the men attempted to flee. But she had no care for them. She only wanted him, the one who tried so fervently to tear her and her husband apart. In his twisted way, Charles thought to come and see Thane off himself. That, would be his last mistake. Perhaps he thought he might be able to strike a bargain with the aloof woman, so cold and fair. Perhaps, he thought she would actually accept his attempts to “comfort” her in her time of need. Whatever reasoning he held in his mind, she was finally tired of his constant, inappropriate, attention. Slowly, knife in hand, she approached the man himself. The one who had been persecuted her and her husband since they moved into that tiny town of Berel. For years, they had taken his abuse in silence. Now, it was enough. She would no longer accept his “rule” with silence and humility. This was his end.  
Even he knelt before her, knowing she would be unlikely to show mercy. Still, he pleaded with her, for he knew this was to be his utter demise. With a face of stone, she brought her knife to him, then moved behind him to cut his throat. Just as she pressed the tip to his skin, Thane moved to reason with her. He would not humiliate her nor cross her by taking the knife from her hand and making the choice for her, but he would ask mercy of her, for he knew she could be persuaded to give it.  
“Chalandra,” Thane said gently, raising his bound hands as he approached her, “Chalandra, please.”  
Startled by his interference, Chalandra looked up and drew the tip of the knife away, just a little. As quickly as she had glanced up, she looked back down to her work and returned the knife to his skin.  
“I think you should go to the other room, Thane,” she said harshly, taking Charles roughly by the hair.  
“No,” he refuted, edging closer to her, “If this is truly what you mean to do, I will stand by your side, just as you have always stood by mine. That is who we are. We support each other. Yet, you know this is wrong, and we have also always helped each other through our struggles, trials, and weaknesses. I believe this is wrong for you.”  
With her lips pressed closely together, she yanked Charles’s head back. The man was sniveling and begging under his breath, his words not even discernable.  
“This is who you want to spare? Who you choose to intervene for? The miserable creature who has done naught but make our lives miserable by misusing his power, attempting to come between us through multiple schemes, and by making crude comments towards me? I would have thought you would have been the one to kill him sooner than I.”  
“He has done wrong, I would never argue that. But think. If you kill him, if you end his wretched life, people will come looking for him. If you let him live, he will lie for you and cover this mess up,” Thane offered, knowing the man would do it, “We need no more bloodstains on our floor, my love. Just let him go and we will figure it out, I promise.”  
“Why do you think he came here today?” she asked, her anger easing just a touch, “He came here to attempt to take what is not rightfully his. Why do you think he set up you? He wanted to arrest you and strike some disgusting bargain with me, that is what I think. He finally saw a way to get leverage, so he sought to use it.”  
“Please, my darling, let him go This is not going to help anyone, only create a mess of problems we do not desire.”  
“If I let you go,” Chalandra said, addressing Charles, “You are to return to your home and lie. I do not care what you say, but the man who died here are to be left be. You cannot come after me again, nor ever allow anyone to come upon my property without asking. You yourself will never bother us again, is that clear? We are to be left in peace, without any form of persecution.”  
“Yes, yes, I swear!” he vowed, willing to say anything for his life.  
Gritting her teeth together, she pulled him up by his hair and dragged him from the house. He squealed, then struggled a bit, though he went with her without any further protest. Throwing open the door, she pulled him through it. Once outside, she took him to the edge of the porch and flung him out over the stairs. He rolled down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a thud and a groan. At the top, Chalandra stood, her face covered in rage.  
“If I ever see you or you men here again, I swear I will destroy you,” she warned, turning tail to him and disappearing into the house.  
Inside, Thane was bent over the heap of clothing where the one man had been vanquished by Chalandra. He looked up at her, clearly in astonishment and pain. She sighed a little and looked away, thinking him to be enraged with her. Without a word, she began to retreat to the bedroom, not wanting to abandon him to his shock, but also not wanting to face him. Just as she reached their bedroom door, he stood up and started after her.  
“Chalandra, wait,” he said gently, reaching out to her.  
“I thought you would be unable to look at me,” she answered softly, glancing back towards him but her gaze remaining downcast, “You have seen the terror I can so easily reap, without so much of even a thought.”  
“Yet I know this is not you. You were pushed to extremes. You are a truly loving woman, yet vindictive when need be. That is why I love you, for you will never hesitate to do what is needed to protect those you love.”  
“But I killed in cold blood. I know how the way you feel about my powers, and that you believe I must never use them for wrong. Now, I do not agree, for there are times in which I will do what I must.”  
“I am not angry with you, my love,” he assured her, closing the distance between them and taking her into his arms, “You did not kill him. You did all you had to, but not more. I am so proud of you, for I know how much you hate him and how he has tormented you over the years. You would have been justified, but you chose rightly.”


	33. The Valley

Thane did not come home until later that evening, perhaps an hour or so later than when he usually arrived. When he entered their house, he found Chalandra bustling around, obviously trying to make a more elaborate dinner than usual. When she heard the door open, she turned, wide-eyed, smiling as he made his way over to her.  
“What are you doing, my love?” he inquired, putting her arm around her shoulder in hopes of stopping for her a moment.  
“I had a mind to make dinner,” she answered, trying to escape from his grasp.  
“I can see that. Will you not let me help you?” he asked, holding her against himself and kissing her head.  
She had been a bit more agitated of late, but tonight, that seemed to have broken. She seemed pleased with herself, for having made dinner for him. Last night, she had been quite off, but now, that seemed to have changed.  
“No, I can manage,” she answered, a bit shortly, though still cheerfully, “Just go do whatever you usually do.”  
He stood, hesitant to leave her without assistance, but she seemed resolved. Taking a deep breath, he made his way into their bedroom and changed into some cleaner clothes. When he returned back out to the kitchen, she was setting some roasted meat and potatoes on the table for them. She had obviously set the table a while before, though was just now finished preparing the meal. After their plates of food were down, she got them each a cup of water, then set a mixed salad of some kind on the table as well. Finally, Thane could take it no longer.  
“Please, let me help you,” he requested again, though he doubted she would permit him to.  
“Just let me do this,” she refused, shaking her head and putting the last few things on the table.  
Once she was done, she looked to him, gesturing to the head of the table where she always insisted he sat. Her setting was just next to his, on the left. Nervously, he took a seat, unsure why she had gone to so much trouble. Once she was seated next to him, she took a deep breath and smiled, eagerly waiting for his approval on her cooking. Still unsure as to her motives, he took a bite, then nodded to her.  
“It’s quite good,” he complimented, nodding, “Though I rather fear I do not know why you put yourself through this. Have a missed an important day?”  
“No, not at all, though I think that it may become important to us in the future,” she answered, starting on her meal as well.  
“Though I hesitate to admit it, I still do not know your motives in acting as you have. Would you care to shed some light on the matter?”  
“Soon enough,” she assured him, “Perhaps after dinner?”  
“Could it not be any sooner?”  
“No,” she replied, “I would rather us enjoy our dinner together first, and then we will discuss it later.”  
“Have I done something to upset you?” he asked, fearing he had done some kind of wrong.  
“No, nothing is wrong, Thane. Nothing at all. I think it to be very good news, some that you will be quite excited about yourself.”  
Nodding slowly, he turned back to his meal and worked steadily at it for a time. He could not deny that the food was good, but he also could not quite force himself to put aside his worry enough to thoroughly enjoy it. Eventually, he found himself compelled to ask again.  
“Chalandra, I do not mean to spoil your fun or to ruin your plans, but I fear I cannot put aside my worries nor my fears until I know what this is all about. I am concerned that I may have missed something or that I am not quite understand what I need to.”  
Shaking her head, she smiled, then answered: “No, it is nothing like that. I merely went down to the village today.”  
“Did you? Why was that? Did you not want to go with me?”  
“You know I always appreciate your company, but I did not want to confide my suspicions in you and permit you to get your hopes up over nothing.”  
“What, what on earth are you talking about?”  
“I went to see Trisha, for I needed her opinion on a certain matter, one that she had much experience with, and that I have none.”  
“What matter is that? And who is Trisha?”  
“Well, as you know, I have been rather irritable lately, along with having drastic swings in my temperament. I have had back aches and nausea, and seem to have gained a bit of weight,” she replied, skirting the question about who Trisha was.  
“My darling, these things are not normal, should we not find you someone who might better cater to your needs? And I have not noticed any additional weight, though I can venture to say it would hardly hurt you.”  
“No, Thane, it is nothing like that. I am quite well, and all of this is normal for me.”  
“How can it possibly be normal?” he asked, fearing for her health.  
“Because, my love, I am with child.”  
With her words, the world around him froze. He felt a wave of shock pass through him, paralyzing him. Without intending to, he dropped his fork. It clattered dully against the plate as he tried in vain to process her words. He heard the sound of his heart thumping in his ears, though he failed to speak for a long while.  
Finally, he stuttered: “What? How...”  
Barely able to contain herself, she nodded excitedly and took his hand, then said: “Well, I believe we both know how, but I am with child!”  
“But I never thought…” he muttered.  
“Nor did I. Yet by some miracle, we are going to have a baby.”  
For a long time, he stared at her, his mouth partially open as he tried to process her news. His breath came in short gasps, and he heard nothing but the dull sound of his own heartbeat and his own breath. Everything else around him was muted, his own mind totally silent. He opened his mouth to speak, only to once again close it, shaking his head a little in disbelief. Closing his mouth fully, he swallowed once having found his throat dry and his mouth sticky without moisture. He furrowed his brow, fighting to find some response to her news. He could feel her hand on his, the warmth welcome as he attempted to come up with an answer. Still, his words failed him, until finally Chalandra grew worried that he was disappointed. A bit concerned that he was not excited about her news, she withdrew her hand, frowning.  
“I am sorry,” she muttered, trying to understand why he was so emotionless and obviously having a difficult time with her news, “I always thought you would be excited. I suppose I never thought that perhaps now was not the best time, or that in some way, we are not ready, financially or emotionally. I suppose I did not even consider the harder side of it, that we have only just moved here, and that you are still working at the smithy’s and will be for at least another year, and then even after you will be working for Charles and away on business to support us until the first few harvests come in. I wish, then, that we might have delayed it a year or so, until we were a bit more stable, if only to help put your mind at ease and help you not be forced to toil so in order to provide for us. I can easily take a job, or work in the fields with you. That way, it will not be so difficult, nor will you be so alone-”  
As she spoke, Thane shook his head, then raised a hand and interrupted her: “My darling, I know that you, just as I, do not wish for this to be in any way delayed! I merely cannot believe that you would ever come to me with such news, for we both thought it impossible for you.”  
“You are not thinking that the timing is poor?” she asked, though she herself did not think it was, but was rather concerned that was what caused such a reaction from him.  
“No, my love, I would never put off having a child with you,” he answered firmly, a few tears glinting in his eyes, “I simply cannot believe it is to be true.”  
Realizing he was sincere, she pressed her lips together, then laid a hand on her stomach. She herself found tears in her eyes, for this was the last thing she wanted to be able to give him: a child. She had given him her love, her hand in marriage, her body, for he loved her greatly in return. But this was the thing she thought she would never give him, his child. And yet, it was so.


	34. Night Hope

Hearing his footsteps on the steps, she set down her dishcloth and turned towards the doorway. A moment later, he turned the knob and pushed open the door, causing the usual dull thud as it stuck to the frame, swollen from the damp. Before he passed through the doorway, he stomped off his boots, brushed off coat, and shook out his hair. Behind him, he closed the door, having to lean on it a little to make it shut fully. Chalandra smiled, hearing the click of the lock. Thane turned around, smiling as he greeted his wife. She was beautiful as ever, though her cheeks were flushed with red from the cold, and her hair did not fully cooperate with her bun. Her face was a little more swollen, and her body had filled out as she began to show her pregnancy. Yet he saw nothing but beauty in his wife. Placing his hands on her sides, he stooped, just a little, to close the distance between his lips and hers.  
"Good evening, my darling,” he muttered, pressing one of his hands against her swollen stomach.  
She was due in just a few weeks now. In mere weeks, they would welcome their child.  
"You are so beautiful, my love. I fear I do not tell you near often enough.”  
Chalandra laughed a little, knowing full well that she was hardly in her most attractive state.  
"I believe only you would see that at this time.”  
“How could I not? You are carrying my child. Our child.”

Chalandra went into labor early the next morning, before the sun had risen above the rooftops. She woke with a start, feeling a sharp stab of pain in her lower stomach. Thane woke with her, feeling her jolt awake. He placed a hand on her face, trying to comfort her.  
"It is alright, nothing is wrong,” he said gently, thinking it another false contraction.  
"No, Thane, it is today,” she answered.  
“Today?" he echoed, his voice filled with disbelief.  
The day dragged on, each contraction harder than the last. By late afternoon, they came less than five minutes apart. Trisha was summoned, and arrived promptly. Throughout the day, Thane remained by Chalandra's side, not wanting to be more than a few feet from her. His hand was constantly on her stomach or across her body as he assisted her to walk. Through every contraction, he held her hand as she squeezed it tightly and moaned in pain. Every time, without fail, he looked into her eyes with a beautiful, pure look of joy. His eyes sparkled with the overwhelming happiness he felt and the thrilling excitement he had to meet their child.  
Though the labor was difficult and rather painful, Chalandra did little more than squeeze Thane's hand. During a particularly bad contraction, she cried out but mostly stifled her cries. Thane wiped the sweat from her forehead and face after almost every one, trying to help her anyway he could. She had rarely seen him so happy, and that knowledge masked the pain. She could see in his eyes the joy he was feeling. This was the day his child was born, the child so long awaited. Since they had been together, he had spoke of wanting to have a child with her, but she never deemed it more than a dream. So often she had seen the desire to have a child with her, but he rarely spoke of it. Now, their child was to be brought into the world that very day.  
At around four in the afternoon, Chalandra lay down to deliver the child. Unlike many fathers and men of the time, he stayed by Chalandra's side. When she lay on the bed to prepare for delivery, Thane pulled up a chair and sat by her. Kissing her once more, he sat down and held her hand, holding it against his heart. The delivery was short and without complications, with Trisha guiding Chalandra every step of the way. Chalandra never cried out, but moaned as she brought their child into the world. Once the child was born, she lay back exhausted from the strain. The sound of crying filled the room almost immediately. Chalandra's body was drenched in sweat, but her heart was filled with joy. Thane caressed her face and kissed her hand again and again, waiting to see his child for the first time.  
After cleaning off the newborn, Trisha wrapped it in a blanket. Neither of the parents had seen their baby yet. It seemed as though no time had passed before Trisha handed them their baby. With a broad smile, she passed the crying infant to Thane.  
"You have a daughter, Thane.”  
Accepting the child, his world seemed to stop. In his arms he held his daughter. Her screams were unheard, and all he saw was the beauty of his child. Her head was covered in sparse black hair and though she was red at the moment, he could tell she had fair skin like her mother. When she peered at him from between her cries, he saw her beautiful piercing blue eyes. Chalandra reached out, touching her baby. Thane kissed the child's head and lay her on her mother's chest, letting them meet.  
Breathless, he watched his daughter and her mother meet for the first time. Chalandra wrapped her arms around the baby, holding her close. The baby ceased to cry, and silence fell over the room. Chalandra looked at the child, taking in her feature and her beauty.  
"She looks like you,” she said, taking his hand.  
“I pray not too closely though,” he muttered as he fought off tears from amid his broad smile, “She would do better to take after her mother. Though she may have my characteristics, I have no doubt her beauty comes solely from you.”  
After Chalandra held their daughter for a few minutes, she gave her back to Thane. Once again, the overwhelming, crippling happiness spread through his body.  
"What shall we call her?" he asked.  
Looking again at their daughter, Chalandra thought for a moment.  
"Neither Trystel nor Arenda suits her. She is different.”  
“What about Eveona?"  
“Eveona? Night's Hope,” she whispered, touching the baby's head, "Yes, she is an Eveona.”  
Night came faster than it ever had before. Chalandra was exhausted, and had fallen asleep several times in short increments. They went to bed early, with both Eveona falling asleep and the long, though thrilling day, tiring them out. Chalandra ate very little, not being hungry. She drank some water so please Thane, and kept down a bit of bread, but did not want anything else. Trisha left soon after, once everything was in order.  
That night, Thane lay the baby between them in the bed, and slept with his arms around both of his women. Eveona slept through the night for the only time in her life, but the rest was much appreciated by Chalandra. She slept holding her child and being held by Thane. Though he was tired, Thane could barely sleep, but instead marveled at both Eveona and Chalandra through the night. His wife and his child. Throughout the night, he touched the cheek of either his baby or his wife, unable to hold back his hand. They both were so perfectly beautiful. Never would he have dreamed that his Chalandra, the only woman he ever loved, would bear him a child.


	35. Contentment

The child grew and thrived, and brought only joy to her parents. Thane could not help but feel as though he hardly deserved such a perfect life-a life with an apotheosis wife and a matching daughter. They brought him more joy than he could have ever dreamed a possibility. And yet, ever night, he held them both in his arms, forced to feel nothing but thankfulness for all the joy he was blessed with.  
The times were hard for them, aside from their daughter. It was thus too cold for planting, and while he had purchased enough seeds to start farming the land, he still labored at the smithy’s, for they did not yet have the means to sustain themselves without it. It was a burden, for him, to be away from them every day, but now, Charles had ceased to bother them, as he had agreed, but the judgement of the town still ruled. Yet, at the end of every day, he returned home to the side of his wife and daughter, and that was enough to sustain him through all.

Once Eveona was finally asleep, Chalandra sank onto their bed. Her body was tired and she wanted to do nothing but sleep. She felt the knowledge that their daughter would soon be up again dig into her. She would be up all night and she had been up all day, just trying to take care of the impossible child. If she went to bed now, it would not be as bad, but she had a duty to spend time with her husband. It was the little time they had together, and she had to act as though everything was fine. He had just as long and hard of a day as she, so it was her duty to care for the child, and to make him happy in the night.  
“I will take her tonight,” Thane said, realizing her distress though she had attempted to mask it and pulling her in for a long embrace.  
Chalandra closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder as he held her. She melted into his arms, letting herself be taken by him. After so long a day, nothing could match the perfection of this moment. It was a pure, honest love. One without the self-seeking desire so many had in a marriage at their time.  
Gently, he ran his hands up and down her back. "You took her last night, I will do it,” he said again, kissing her head.  
“No, you worked all day, it is my duty.”  
“I am her father and your husband, it is my duty to give you both all you deserve. In being your husband, I am to care for your needs, even if they extend to the tasks this society deems woman's work. Besides, I have not spent enough time with Eveona as of late, so I intend to change that.”  
“But we have barely seen each other,” she protested  
“Would you not rather sleep? We have the rest of eternity to talk, one night is nothing.”  
“What are you saying?"  
“That you need sleep,” he answered gently, kissing her head.  
Chalandra lay back and Thane kissed her once more. As they did every night, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against himself. He soon drifted off to sleep, holding Chalandra in his arms. Just as she could barely sleep without the assurance of his arms, he could hardly sleep without the comfort of her body in his arms. Three hours passed before Eveona cried, waking him from his sleep. Kissing Chalandra's forehead and running his fingers across her cheek, he roused himself from the bed. Before leaving the room, he pulled the covers up around his wife and pulled his shirt on over his bare chest. Putting on his boots and coat, he prepared for the cold. Lastly, he grabbed a spare blanket from the wardrobe, tossed it over his shoulder, and headed down the hall.  
Once in his daughter's room, Thane lifted Eveona from her cradle. Pressing her to his chest, he rocked her gently. Slowly, he walked out of her room, down the hallway, and out the front door. He took her to the left, onto their small porch. Sitting on the small wicker couch, he pulled the blanket from his shoulder and wrapped it around them.  
"There you are Eveona, no need to cry,” he whispered to her, kissing her head.  
Eveona cried for several more minutes, being the fussy baby that she was. Finally, she settled down and lay on him quietly.  
"Look at the sky, is it not beautiful? You were named for the night sky, you know. People love the day and the dawn more than the night, but the night is far more beautiful. It is full of promise and hope for a new day, a better day. So many wish the night to be over, and the day to come, but they cannot see what they have been given. Night is so much greater than day, no matter what others say. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise, Eveona. You are beautiful, just like the night, nothing will ever change that.”  
The baby drifted into sleep, but Thane continued to hold her, just as he did with her mother.  
"You are perfect, Eveona, never forget that. I always have always thought I would want a child. The only thing I have ever wanted more was to marry your mother. Even though your mother was barren, I stayed with her. Other men would have left her, so to fulfil their own dreams. That is not love, not real love. I did not want a child, not if Chalandra was not the mother. So many times, she tried to make me leave so that I might have the child I dreamed, but it meant nothing without her. She was the only woman I could ever love, and that love was tried. For twenty years we were apart, yet no woman even caught my eye. They were all the same, all dull and lifeless. I only wanted a child with her. By some miracle I was given you. You are a child from a barren woman who once was killed, never forget that.”  
Thane kissed the head of his daughter, still holding her against his chest. He moved her under his coat and pulled the blanket to her chin. It was not long before he too fell into sleep, with the child asleep on his chest. Throughout the night, he stayed on their porch, asleep with Eveona. When dawn came, Chalandra woke without Thane by her side. She was startled, as he should have returned once Eveona was asleep. She always came back to bed near the morning light to sleep a little longer before the child woke again.  
Leaving the bed and grabbing her coat, she wandered out of their bedroom to find them. They were not in the house, and Eveona was not in her cradle. Finally, she looked out of the kitchen window to find them sound asleep on the porch. She smiled, watching them for a moment. Quietly, she opened the door and stepped outside. Careful not to wake either of them, she turned around the corner to get a better view. Her heart melted when she saw them more closely. Thane's head was hung down, Eveona laying on his chest. A blanket kept them warm, and the child shared his warm coat.  
Thane's arms were wrapped around Eveona, keeping her warm and safe. For one of the first times in her life, Eveona slept soundly, not having not woken again. That was the man she had married, the tender, caring father who held their child against his chest. For so many long years he had longed for a child, though he rarely spoke of it. Every time she had looked at him, she saw that longing in his eyes, and every time it killed her. The knowledge of his desires cut her to the heart, wanting to bring him that one gift. It had never been too much to ask, to have a child with her. When she first told him she was pregnant, his face had lit up with a pure and honest joy. Only several times she had seen that same joy. When they were married, on their wedding night, and when she accepted his marriage proposal.  
His wishes were now fulfilled. By some miracle she had brought him a child, their child. Every time he looked at Eveona, she saw that spread across his face. That was their child, their child. Nothing she would ever do could match the same joy that Eveona brought him. The way he looked at Eveona was the way he looked at her, with a gentle, loving look of a father and husband. This was the man she had married.


	36. Behind the Veil

Having Eveona was a blessing, and there was nothing else she felt could compare to the joy of having been able to give Thane a daughter. Yet, her happiness came at a high price, it seemed. She enjoyed her quiet life, though often, she resented being reduced to a mere housewife. Eveona brought much joy to their house, and yet, many struggles as well. The child kept her up at night, though Thane often took care of her for Chalandra, and during the day, she did little other than tend to the chores and Eveona. It was dull, though Thane’s unrelenting love and devotion made it worthwhile. But, all the same, she often felt as though she was growing close to wit’s end with the boringness of her life. Thane continued his work, though no longer as a carter, but at the blacksmith’s shop. It was enough to support them, but also enough to keep him away for the day, leaving her to continue her mundane duties at the home.  
With Thane gone that day, Tarre came to keep her company, citing some talk of their duties as the reason for his visit. Desiring nothing more than to speak with someone of intelligence who understood her wants for blood and her lust for war, she waited eagerly for his knock. When it came, she instantly jumped up and opened it, inviting in him.  
“Tarre, I can hardly tell you how happy I am that you have finally decided to let me speak with you again.”  
“How do you mean?” he asked, passing through the doorway and standing before her, his dark cloak and hair exactly as she had last seen him.  
“I understand why you were reluctant to let me into the affairs of the peace after I had Eveona, is all, and I am happy to once again be a part of it.”  
“I apologize, for I realize now you had every right to regulate your own affairs and decide when being a part of the drama of keeping the peace is and is not right for you, but I was cautious all the same.”  
“It is alright,” she assured him, gesturing to the seat across from her as she sat down, “It is understandable.”  
“You may say that, but I fear with the news I bring, you may change your mind.”  
“How is that?”  
He paused there, his body growing ridged as he tried to form the words. Eventually, he was able to answer her question.  
“I failed in my duty,” he answered, shaking his head, “The peace has not been kept.”  
“How do you mean, Tarre?” she pressed, leaning towards him and lowering her voice as she spoke, “What do you mean the peace was not kept?”  
“I knew this news would come as a blow, and I truly should have set aside my pride and turned to you sooner, but what is done is done. I failed in my duty to prevent the divides from warring with each other, and one has once again taken up the search.”  
“The search for their treasure?”  
“Indeed,” he confirmed, lowering his head with shame, “Their search for their treasure that they so fervently believe exists.”  
“Why? What changed? They agreed to drop the search.”  
“They may have, but it seems all the while a few rouges were continuing the search behind the backs of others. I only found out about it because I witnessed them go out as I was leaving. They have been searching for almost the entire time they have been under the treaty.”  
“Which divide?” she inquired, not that it would make much of a difference.  
“The Yewflowers, as you might have suspected. They have been headed by a man named Hue.”  
“I ought to have known. They were never true to their word.”  
“I am so sorry, my lady, for having thrown this upon you, and for having not told you sooner.”  
“No, it is alright. I doubt I would have been able to do much. Be ready to go tonight, for the moment Thane returns home, we will be gone.”  
All day, she paced the floor, waiting for Thane to return home. When finally, she heard his boots on the porch, she turned towards the door, twisting the fabric of her apron between her fingers. He pulled open the door, letting in a gust of the cold autumn air as he entered the house.  
“Thane,” she said, the urgency in her voice betraying her feelings.  
“What is it?” he asked immediately, concern laced in his tone.  
“I must go, tonight. I know how you worry, but it must be done.”  
“What is so important that it would rip you from your bed?”  
“It does not matter. Do not worry, for I believe all will be well. I just have to handle this.”  
“But what is it?” he pleaded, desperate to know.  
“I have to deal with some rebels who are trying to endanger the peace treaty, that is all. It is nothing, really, but it is of great importance. Can you care for Eveona tonight?”  
“Of course, my love, that is not even of question. But I fear for the safety of my wife and the mother of my child.”  
“There is no need,” she lied, closing the distance between them and tenderly patting his chest, “But I do need to go tonight.”  
He glanced away, unable to meet her gaze, simply out of worry. She kissed his cheek, aware he was troubled, but still hurried off to their bedroom to get ready. A few minutes later, she returned, her long hunting knife at her side and her house dress exchanged for her long, dark cloak and her black dress. It had been a long time since she had worn either, yet she felt at home in the leather corset and tightly laced boots all the same. For a moment, she paused before Thane, her worried gaze turning up to him.  
“It will all be well,” she assured him.  
When he simply stood in silence, unmoving, she nodded slightly and turned away, towards the door. Since their marriage, she had never moved the sword in the ground, and even now, she did not see it as doing so, for her broadsword remained. She trusted Tarre to keep the peace, and this was not war. This was peacekeeping, and that is a different thing entirely.  
So as she opened the door, she reminded herself this was her duty. She had made the peace, and now she had to keep it. This was not war, it was not war lust, it was not even a battle. It was a negotiation, and thereby, she kept her promise to herself.  
Just as she pulled open the door, Thane stepped forward, catching her arm as she passed through. Pulling her back just a touch, he grasped her by both arms, looking down at her with reserved passion.  
“Be safe,” he commanded.  
“I will,” she assured him, offering a small smile.  
With that, he kissed her lips, then let her go. She ducked her head, knowing that if she hesitated, she would end up lingering when she needed to go. From the doorway, he watched in silence as she made her way across the yard, then disappeared into the barn. Behind him, Eveona began to fuss. Sighing deeply, he closed the door, wishing his wife well, for it would be the first night she was gone, not he.

She met Tarre at the bottom of their mountain valley path, her horse stepping lightly beneath her, for Avaleth assumed they were going to battle. Tarre lead, and they rode to the Yewflower divide base in the twilight, the night slowly settling around them. It was an errand that could not wait another day, not if she wanted peace to reign. The sooner she dealt with it, the better chance she saw of her life, the life she wanted.  
They arrived not a few hours later, thundering into the canvas city in the midst of night, Chalandra demanding to see their leader. After a few angrily exchanged words, the underlings consented, fetching for her to man who presumably lead them, a stubbly Wildman she instantly recognized as Hue, the man who was previously in charge of taking her and Thane to the Yewflower camp many years past.  
Stifling a laugh, she swung down from Avaleth, her dagger gaze fixated on him, unrelenting as he tried to remember her face.  
“Hue,” she said coldly, bluntly, “It has been a long time since I have seen your wretched face.”  
“You are that woman, the one we killed when you tried to run?” he recounted, still struggling to place her in the dark.  
“Indeed,” she confirmed, “The years have not been kind to your face, but it seems as though they have been kind to your status.”  
“They have,” he replied, nodding, “I now run this here lot of runts.”  
“So you are ready to be the one held accountable? I presume your promotion was recent, though I cannot say for certain.”  
“It was recent, after the downfall of Rasonphel, and after the peace was established. I broke off with a few others who had a mind to continue the search.”  
“You did not take all the death as a warning as others did?”  
“No, I took it as an inciting incident, one that only fueled my flame to find the treasure you so desperately want us to never find,” he answered.  
“It seems then, that you already know my reason for coming here?”  
“If it is in regard to the treasure, then yes. That was easy to discern. You may have made what you consider a peace, and you may not desire for us to pursue the treasure, but we are all the same. Whatever reason you give for why we should not will not sway me, for one.”  
“Why are you so sure in yourself? Why do you believe so fervently that I am simply trying to keep you from obtaining wealth and happiness which you seek?”  
“You are bitter. You wish for us to fail to find the treasure out of spite, nothing more,” he returned, shrugging.  
“I have no great grievance with you. You may have done me wrong in the past, but I do not hold it against you now. I merely want to continue to live my life in peace, which if you continue your pursuit, I will be unable to do.”  
“What does our quest have anything to do with you?” he scoffed, shaking his head, “There is not a reason for us to surrender our attempts, nor a just reason why you care so much.”  
“Why I care? I care because no matter what you believe, that treasure, if it can be called that, which you seek with tear apart my life, and the lives of all those around me. It is in your best interest to avoid that ghastly thing at all costs. I implore you, let it lie. Do not pursue it any longer, for it is not what you believe it to be.”  
“Why should I stop my search? You have made it possible for the divides to come together, I will grant you that, for there is no longer open war between us. However, what I do not see is why you are so hell-bent on us forfeiting the search? Do you want the treasure for yourself, then?”  
“I will not go near that so-called treasure, not in my life. I beg of you to do the same, but it seems as though you will simply do as you please. All I can tell you is to watch yourself, to truly be sure of yourself, for it is not all it seems, and your life will be destroyed by this foolish quest.”  
“You can fill my head with lies all you desire, because I know they are just that, lies,” Hue snarled, turning his back on her, “You will hear of me, when I find it. I hope you are there, the moment I find your treasure, that I might see the look on your face when I first place my hand on it.”  
“Believe me, no matter how much I do not wish to be there, I will be,” she swore, knowing it would be unavoidable for her to be present.  
She was connected to that treasure, no matter how she denied it, and already, she knew somehow, she would know when the time came.


	37. Blessings

Two Years Later  
The moment he passed through the doorway, Eveona threw herself around his legs, hobbling him. Smiling broadly, he lifted the young child into his arms.  
“Oh, alright,” he muttered as she buried her face in his neck. “Did you miss me?”  
Eveona, her black hair wild and untamed, nodded frantically. She pushed herself up, and he moved her over to his hip and supported her with his arm.  
“Of course I did, father,” she answered cheerfully, “Tell me again why you had to go away?”  
“I had to go and buy seeds for food, so that we can grow it here instead of me working in the village,” he tried to explain, knowing full well the child would not yet be able to comprehend the concept, “Where’s your mother?”  
“She was just in my bedroom,” she replied eagerly, “She was making my bed.”  
“We should go find her, should we not?”  
Eveona nodded, then wrapped her arms around his neck, a few strands of her ever-growing dark hair finding their way in front of Thane’s gaze. He smiled a little, and kissed her pale, angelic cheek as they made their way towards her bedroom. The single daughter she had given to him was a greater gift than he could have ever imagined. Yet, here they were, with a daughter.  
As he rounded the corner, he found Chalandra bent over Eveona’s bed, tucking in the sheets. She stood to her full height, and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Seeing movement in the doorway, she spun around quickly with a gasp. Instantly, her surprise turned to delight and her mouth upturned into a smile. She came to his side, then wrapped her arms around her husband, though her daughter was caught in the embrace. Thane laughed softly, smiling until their lips met.  
“I missed you,” she sighed, relaxing as she felt his free arm close around her.  
“I do not believe you were the only one.”  
“No, I was not,” she answered, glancing to Eveona, “Come on though, let us go into the kitchen. How was the market?”  
“Very successful,” he replied, nodding. “I was able to get a far better price on the seeds than I was expecting.”  
“Did you bring me something, father?” Eveona chimed in, looking at him with nervous excitement.  
“Was I supposed to?”  
“You said you would,” she sighed, disappointed, but doing her best to hide it.  
“And so I did,” he assured her, kissing her forehead.  
“You spoil her,” Chalandra scolded.  
“I brought you something too, if you are feeling jealous,” he teased.  
“Did you now?” she inquired, “But I have something for you as well.”  
“My darling, no gift but your love is required.”  
“Do you not want to know what it is?”  
“Of course I do!” he exclaimed, squeezing her hand.  
“Are you certain?”  
“Go on then,” he encouraged, setting down Eveona.  
Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer to him and raised herself up on her toes, just at ear height.  
“I am with child.” She whispered.  
The soft whisper of her breath tickled his ear. Her words caused his body to freeze, though his heart pounded with excitement.  
“What?” he asked, shocked.  
Turning towards her, his gentle grey eyes searched her face, his lips upturned in a small smile, though he feared he had heard her incorrectly. Suppressing a smile, her lips pressed close together, she nodded.


	38. The Inevitable

So many years, so many souls. So many hours on the battlefield. So many lives lost. So many families torn apart. So many angry words. So many questions. All that time. All those unanswered questions. All those failures, those defeats. All those times he had watched his soldiers cut down. It had led to this. And it was worth it. This was what he had wanted, what he had sought, for all that time. The item of his desire. The promised treasure.  
It called to him. As they were passing by a simple cave, green and vibrant with foliage. The vines had veiled the entrance, but it had not kept him away. He could tell what lay within. The necklace, the shard of glass that was promised to lead him there, one of five, finally had done its duty. It had begun to hum with life. A dark, twisting swirl of silver and blue tinged on his neck, alerting him of the nearby treasure.  
"It's here, boys,” he said, confidently. "I can feel it.”  
His heart nearly pounding out of his chest as he neared the cave, he tossed aside his short bow. He would not need it. There was no combat, he could tell that much. He had won, and whatever treasure lay within would grant him unquestioned supremacy over the lands for eternity. Hands shaking, he pulled aside the vine-veil, stepping inside eagerly, though slowly. Nothing could stop him now, not even death. For somehow, he felt as though he was to be triumphant even over death.  
Inside, the cave sang with life. The walls were damp, though not unpleasantly so. As though the cave were behind a waterfall. Grass was sparse on the ground, though very much alive. Bushes sprang out of the walls, from between the cracks in the stone. His footsteps made no sound as he neared the single object in the cave, elevated on a stone pedestal. His men followed behind, keeping a distance, but not willing to stay behind. They too wanted a part of the treasure. Though it was strange not to be disappointed in the fact that the only object in the cave was a stone.  
The perfect spherical stone, untouched, and even hovering above the stone pedestal. Hue neared it, extending his hand towards the perfect, unblemished surface of the deep, blue and silver swirl. Hue reached out to touch it, his hand hovering over it.  
"Stop!" came a voice from behind.  
Powerful, demanding, but a woman's voice. Confused, Hue withdrew his hand a little and turned only to see Chalandra herself standing in the entrance of the cave. It was only her silhouette, but it was unmistakably her. She wore a deep blue dress, over which she had laced her brown leather corset. Her stomach protruded beyond the corset, proving she was pregnant. Still, a child in her womb did not deter her from holding her bow in one hand and an arrow in the other.  
"I forbid you to touch that!" she cried, setting the arrow to the string.  
“Forbid me? You believe you have that power? To give me orders? I can assure you that you are incorrect! You are a woman, thereby have no right to tell me what to do!" he scoffed, laughing at the woman, "You have no power over me, you never have. You created peace when there should have been war. The divides were meant to fight, to dual for this jewel. It is more valuable than anything else in the world, for it holds the key to the Dendä's power. That is what you meant, isn't it? That this is the key to the power of the Dendä, including you? You simply don't wish to lose your power. For if I touch it, I will find myself power to match your own!"  
“You are wrong. That stone holds power, but not the kind that you seek. You believe it holds the key to making your own race powerful? I assure you it is quite the opposite. That stone holds the darkest thing of this world. The one thing that must never again see the light of day. That is why it is here, why he is here. I am the protector, the warrior, of this world. It is my duty to protect the earth and all its inhabitants. And I intend to, by keeping that thing away from you.”  
“You know more than you say.”  
“Indeed, I do. Yet it is only to prevent the destruction of the earth that I fail to bring to light things that should remain in the dark.”  
“If you don't tell me, I will touch it.”  
“And if you do not like what you hear, you will touch it nonetheless.”  
“Perhaps, but at least you have a chance.”  
Shaking her head, she drew a deep breath. Pulling the bowstring back to her ear, she aimed straight for him.  
"I am giving you a chance, then. Leave this place, and never return, or die here and now. I need now heed you when I can simply kill you.”  
Before she could react, he touched it, the perfect, flawless, crystalized surface. Immediately, an icy wind swept past him, sending his hair flying back. He drew in a deep breath, and became the bearer of the treasure. His men, they were not afraid, so much as curious. For they knew that he was to be there new, unquestioned leader. His word would be law. For it was no longer Hue. The treasure was a life in its own. For it was never considered that the treasure would be the key. But not the key to power equal to that of the Dendä, nor was it one to power of one’s own accord. It was the key that permitted power darker than any other to control another being and be freed from its isolation. The key for Gesfel to begin his slow, but unrelenting conquest of the land. His conquest for lives, both that of human and Dendä alike, but most of all, for the power of Chalandra, his true treasure, for he knew the power she now held. He had failed to prevent its development in the past, and now, he knew she was supreme above all, and would never stop pursuing her so that he might find dominion over all.

It was irreversible. She saw no way for them to fix what had been done, nor means with which she might repair the damage which had been done. Outside, she gravitated instantly to Tarre, no tears coming, but her body tense with rage and her mind blinded with anger. Yet, by the time she reached Avaleth, her anger retreated and her sound mind returned. Tarre had done all he could, and if any were to blame for the release of the beast, it was her, for she had passed the task to another, despite knowing the stubbornness of men.  
“What are you going to do, my lady?” Tarre asked, seeing what had transpired written across her face.  
“I do not know what there is to be done,” she answered solemnly, without emotion, “What is done is done and there is little else for me to do.”  
“Are you going to wage your war against Gesfel now that he is free?”  
“There is no point in it,” she sighed, “Nor is it the time. He will fall, in time, but now is not the time.”  
“How is it not? He has been freed and now has the ability to roam the earth. He will begin his reign of terror without hesitation.”  
“No, it will be a time before he has enough strength to do much harm. It will be years before he raises a true army and has the ability to challenge me.”  
“But what do you mean to do? He will still run rampant through the lands and cause destruction and loss. You surely mean to have your fight with him before long.”  
Chalandra paused, restraining her anger and instead finding herself heavy with sorrow. The time may come. The time would come. But the time was not now. Nor was it anytime soon. Gesfel was unable to rule the lands. He would be fought back by the good of the world, the men and women who would oppose him, and for now, that would be enough. A time would come that it would not be, but for now, it was not at hand.  
“It is not the time, Tarre. I am now giving you a new task, for I cannot be the one to carry it out. I am only here because Gesfel covets me so directly, and we are so deeply intertwined. I put aside my blade, and I mean to continue to live my life as Thane’s wife. Quiet, meek, little more than a housewife. When the time comes, I will know.”  
“And until then? What is my duty?”  
“Hold him at bay. Gesfel will be able to be held off by the will of men, with your help. Form alliances with peoples, towns, and enable yourself to have allies for when it comes time to fight him, to keep him from ruling supremely. When the times truly comes, I will know, and I will fight my battle. But until then, it will be your duty to keep him away.”  
“I understand, my lady, and I will do all in my power and ability to carry out your command.”  
“Send word to me frequently.”  
“I shall.”  
And on his promise, she returned to her home. There was nothing more for her to do, not now. She had played her part, done her duty, and tried to keep the darkness of the beast contained. Yet still, she had failed. In time, she might be forced to take up the sword again, the blade she had set aside to raise her family, but for now, she would let it lie. For now, she would live her life with Thane, leaving Tarre as caretaker for the lands. If the time came for her to once again answer the call of the warrior and to face the darkness, she would. But it was not needed, not when the total demise of the dark required such sacrifice from her. This was the time for her to answer the call of being a mother and a wife, to finding happiness in her life even when the dark surrounded. The lands of men might pay for their crimes, and the darkness might run free for a time. For their ignorance, it was a small price to pay, especially when the cost of ending the war with Gesfel came at an even higher price.


	39. In Hopes of Future Days

“Tomorrow I will be gone for just a little while. I’m going to go out to the fields and begin to work them. It will soon be time to plant the harvest, after all,” Thane mentioned, taking a seat across from her with his food.  
“Are you? I suppose it must happen sooner rather than later, if we ever hope to have a decent harvest this year. When do you suppose you will go out?”  
“Very early, my love. Likely before you even wake.”  
“I want to come with you,” she said, smiling a little.  
“What? No, Chalandra, it is far too soon after Mirador. You will have to stay at the house with her, and I would worry for you if you tried to work so soon.”  
“I will be just fine,” she assured him, knowing well he would protest the idea, “It is my house and my land too, after all, and I want to help you plant the harvest. As we cannot afford to hire help yet, it is only right that I step in. We can bring Mirador, and I will go back to the house to collect Eveona when she wakes, or we can make her come along early, it does not matter. I just want to come and help, if only for a little while.”  
“You help enough by bearing and tending my children, keeping my home, and being my wife. I will gladly do this alone if only to put myself at ease.”  
“I am happy and honored to be your wife, but I insist. I am not a fragile woman as you love to believe, but rather am a strong one who can most assuredly take on some responsibilities in the field. It is long enough after little Mirador that I am not longer tender, nor do I have pain, nor do I bleed anymore. I see no reason why I could not go with you.”  
“I worry about you even cooking dinner, yet you think I would let you help in the fields? And you know I would never rush you in such affairs.”  
“You do not have much of a choice, for the choice is not yours to make. I am strong enough and I am going to get very bored in this little home, lovely as it is, without anything else to do. So I will be accompanying you tomorrow morn.”

He walked a ways behind, cradling their new daughter carefully in his arms. She had yet to wake, and slumbered undisturbed in his arms. The morning was brisk, but he had carefully wrapped her in a blanket and held her tight to his chest. It was early enough that the sun had yet to rise, leaving a blue hue lingering in the air. The dew was still on the green grass beneath his feet and the last of the fireflies were slowly disappearing into the trees.  
His gaze drifted from the perfect sleeping face of his dark-haired daughter, with features as fine as her mother’s, to the woman herself, who was just a few paces ahead. Both his children were so blessed, for no matter how many times Chalandra said they took after him, he only saw her beauty in them. Never had he dreamed that such a rough, imperfect man as he could never father such beings, yet he knew it was the grace of their mother which had brought them such perfection. They may have taken his dark hair and blue eyes, but she had given them the enchanting qualities he already knew they possessed.  
The woman before him was his wife, yet he struggled everyday to recall how such a thing could have transpired. They had seen hard times, that much was true. But here she was, after years of struggling with herself and her choices, free and happy. Though he knew her to be contented, he had yet to see her with such airy grace, as though all burdens had been lifted. They both were often solemn people, though she was certainly the more expressive one, whilst he was always content yet rarely expressive to people other than she. He was always willing to work hard, to toil every day in hopes that her life might be a little easier. That she might have one less burden on her shoulders.  
Yet here she was now. Walking lightly, almost skipping, over the dew-covered grass before them, a mother of two who had insisted upon going out to the fields to help him, in any way she could. Her hair was down; the golden trellises dancing in step with her movement. The hem of her skirt dragged across the earth, just a little too long for her, yet instead of worrying about her husband or her children, or even the divides, she was free of all burdens. It made him so happy, in that moment, with his child’s finger wrapped around his as she slept, watching his wife before him, moving as light as a faery, singing:  
I walked alone one foggy morn  
Only me and my memories  
Out to the cliffs by the sea

On the hill I saw a sword  
Standing tall, though abandoned still  
Left behind for me

No message nor note could every say  
What the blade was meant to tell  
For she went across the sea

She went to lands beyond  
ne’er a seen  
Did that daughter mine


End file.
